Original Skin, Original Lie
by JxTina
Summary: Hiding the truth is a dangerous thing, but sometimes admitting it can be even worse. SLASH - Randy/OC. RATED M FOR SEXUAL CONTENT AND LANGUAGE
1. Chapter 1

So this is an idea I've had for a while now. I've always wanted to write something like this, but at this moment, I'm not entirely sure where to go with it. I had one idea but the more I thought about it, the more it didn't work. So I'm trying a new tack.

I should make it clear that this is a **male OC** - he is **NOT** based on anyone. Please do not read him as Cody or Evan or whoever. Because that's not how the story is intended and you'll ruin it for yourself lol.

Also, it's set in the late 90s - everyone is around 17 or 18 years old.

**WARNING:** Sexual content and hints of slash. More of that to come if I continue.

**DISCLAIMER:** WWE owns Randy Orton. I, however, own the OCs. Also, the title comes from the song _Superstition_ by The Kills and used without permission.

At the moment, this is a one-shot. It might turn into a prologue for a longer story. I have a little idea floating around that might work, but we'll see. Any ideas on where this could possibly go are more than welcome.

Enjoy.

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><p>Bea's tongue slides down my neck, her teeth nipping the skin every so often. Her hands slide up my sides, under my shirt. Her hand creeps up across my stomach, two cold fingers brush across my nipple and then twist it sharply.<p>

"Fuck!" I cry out, pushing her off me. She tumbles to my side.

"I thought you liked it," she scowls. "You screamed when I did it the other day."

"Because it fucking hurt," I mutter, rubbing my chest.

Bea doesn't say anything. The usual cold shoulder then. I count the seconds. I make a bet with myself – 30 seconds before she clambers back on top of me, undoes her bra, hitches her skirt up, unzips me and...

Her hand slides down my arm. And bingo. She crawls over me, her mouth too wet, her hands too cold. She fumbles with my zipper for too long. I push her hands away and tug my pants down for her. She grabs my hand. I close my eyes, as she raises herself up and places my hand between her legs.

I jump as I realise she's not wearing anything underneath her skirt. My finger slides into her easily and she gives me what I think is too over-zealous moan. It's the over-exaggerated bend of the back, the deluded smile that gives it away. She has perfected the noise, but the expression that go with it? She needs to spend more time in front of the mirror. Practice makes perfect.

She pulls away, leaving my finger unpleasantly sticky. I go to wipe it on her skirt, but she grabs my hand.

"Taste me."

"Bea..."

"Go on," she says, her voice laced with sweetness. She pushes my hand up towards my face.

"Fuck's sake, Bea..." I wrench my hand free and wipe the finger on the bedcovers.

"Lighten up... I was only teasing," she rolls her eyes. She raises her hips again and then slides down onto my cock.

She rocks back and forth, working hard to keep her face matched up with her moans and groans. She does all the right things. She clenches around me, grinds down hard, swivels her hips every so often. She even touches herself.

If I was someone else, I would be a lucky guy.

* * *

><p>Bea left an hour ago. As she left my room, I noticed a dribble of semen on the back of her thigh. I decided not to mention it. She'll discover it sooner or later.<p>

I roll onto my front and grind my crotch into the covers, smelling my own sweat on the bedsheets. Spreading my legs a little wider, I press down harder, rotating my hips. I bite at the sheets, tug at them, imagining that it's thick skin instead. I stretch out my arms, wondering what it would feel like to trace my fingers over toned arms, to feel the grooves in the muscles, to run my fingers over taut skin pulled tight over thick veins.

I sometimes wonder if I could get away with this with Bea. Flip her over, fuck her from behind, push her head between the pillows and pretend to fuck someone else.

The definition of perversion is a concept describing those types of human behaviour that are a serious deviation from what is considered to be orthodox or normal.

Am I abnormal for thinking what I think? Possibly.

Am a deviant for wanting what I want? Most likely.

Am I pervert? Maybe you should decide for yourself.

The thing is... That when I fuck Bea, I close my eyes and fuck someone else. When I jerk off, I don't imagine her, but someone else. And when I have a dirty dream – it's not her. It's someone else. Now, maybe that's not unusual – everyone fantasises right? And sometimes that fantasy can take over a bit – seep into reality a little.

My fantasy is with me every waking hour. It's there when I wake up, when I look in the mirror, when I bend over the sink to spit out toothpaste, when I slurp milk out the carton, when I have a sneaky cigarette before class, when I jerk off in the bathroom at lunch, when I drive home from school, when I watch porn, when I fall asleep.

It's ever present.

Because he's ever present.

I roll onto my back and grab my cock, tugging desperately. I remember when I saw him earlier, leaning back against the wall, almost hidden in the shadows, a sneaky cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth. The epitome of...

Fuck...

I twist my head into the pillows, bite down hard as I come over my hand and stomach.

Randal fucking Orton – the source of my perversion.

And the best part? He hasn't got a fucking clue. But if he did... We'd both be fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

This follows on from the previous chapter as I have decided to try and give this story a proper shot. Sorry that it's such a short chapter, but I hope future chapters will be a bit longer - I'm just getting back into my stride with this one and just wanted to get something out there!

**WARNING:** Slash

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Randy Orton. But all the OCs are mine.

No beta. Just me :-)

Hope you like x

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

I lean back in my seat, fumble with the handle and recline backwards, so that my head is only just visible behind the steering wheel. Raising my hips slightly, I tug the half empty, half crushed pack of cigarettes from my pocket. I pull one out with my mouth as I toy with the lighter.

From here, I have the perfect vantage point. I glance at the clock on the dashboard. My stomach tightens. My eyes flick back to school entrance. I scan the street, my whole being anticipating the first glimpse. I have to take several deep drags to steady myself.

And then, just as the big clock hand shifts level with the nine, he appears in the far corner of my vision. His long legs cover twice as much distance in one stride than anyone else around him, making him easy to spot. That and his height: despite his low-slung head and hunched over shoulders, he still towers over everyone by at least a head. Yet his efforts to make himself invisible seem to work. He slips into the background, un-noticed by everyone. Except me.

I watch as he follows the crowd into the gates, shifts his backpack from one shoulder to the other, stuffs a hand into the back pocket of his pants and makes his way uneasily towards the double doors.

It's the same every morning, but for me, it never gets old. I think I could watch him forever. I imprint every moment on my mind, ready to use when I'm alone. When I close my eyes, the sight of him leaning against a wall is enough to send my mind into over-drive. But these few moments in the morning are the most precious. These are moments where I don't have to look through my facade. It's just me and him. I have to savour it before I put up the barricade and pretend to be the jock with the hot girlfriend and hide way my sick thoughts until I'm alone once again.

I wind down the window and flick the cigarette butt out. I glance in the wing mirror and with a jolt realise that today I have to put together the facade quicker than usual; Bea is sauntering towards me, a finger twisting around a thick lock of hair, her lips slicked in red and skirt riding slowly up her thighs. I quickly readjust my seat, grab my bag and open the door before she can reach me.

"Hey baby," she breathes in my ear, her arms encircling me before she goes in for the kill. Her lipstick somehow makes it way into my mouth and I resist the urge to spit the taste out.

"Hey." I sling a courteous arm around her shoulders as we walk towards school.

"So, my mom is out tonight... Y'wanna come over?"

I shrug. "I dunno."

"Why not?"

I wrack my brain for a half-decent excuse. My silence doesn't do anything to defuse the situation. I can see her pouting with every passing second. Very occasionally, I do feel slightly bad about how I act with her. So I turn and wrap my arms around her just before we reach the double doors.

"I'll see okay? I mean, I've got football practice later and then I said I would meet the guys at The Cavern. But I could drop by after that?"

She smiles. "Sure." She leans towards me and kisses me, mercifully, on the cheek. She wipes away the red stain with a giggle and then heads off in the direction of her fellow red lipped, short skirted friends.

I head inside, the taste of lipstick still on my tongue as I push my way through the masses towards first period.

Leaning against the lockers a few metres away from the classroom are Jay and Rich. I suppress thoughts of Randy even deeper into my subconscious and greet them with extra macho gusto.

But as Jay begins to tell me about what happened after me and Bea left last night's debauchery at the Cavern, mostly involving his latest conquest, someone shoves into me from behind. I wheel around and come face to face with...

"Dude, what's your problem?" scowls Rich, stepping up shoulder to shoulder with me. "You think just 'cause you're a fucking giant it gives you the right to walk around like you own the fucking place?"

Randy blinks, his shoulders hunched forward even more, lowering his eyes.

Jay steps forward, attempting to shove Randy with his own shoulder. He fails miserably and results in shoving Randy in the armpit. Yet Randy stumbles back slightly.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"You fucking better be," growls Jay. "You touch him again and he ends up with something broken and we know who to hunt down. You really wanna cost this school that football championship by injuring our star player huh?"

"Sorry," Randy mumbles again, taking a step back, almost bumping into Mr Scott, who gives him a similar look of distain.

Rich steps towards Randy, but I reach out and grab his shoulder. "Leave it."

He turns and gives me a strange look but lets Randy shrink away into the classroom. The rest of the class, oblivious to the past few minutes, follow inside and we tag on the end, taking our usual places at the back of the room.

As Mr Scott asks us to turn to page 47, I chance a glance over at Randy. He sits on his own, one row from the back, leaning against the wall, the large bookcase that lines the far side of the room, almost sheltering him from view. His legs stretch out under the desk, his feet almost pressing against the chair in front of him. And then suddenly, he retracts, hunches over the textbook, his pen tapping away incessantly on his notepad. He stares up at Mr Scott for a second and then his gaze starts to wander around the room.

I know I should look away. But I can't.

His eyes slowly meet mine. He stares wide-eyed for a moment and then he seems to relax. I swallow.

I want to look away. I _have_ to look away. Without giving anything away.

So I shoot him a scowl and before I can look away, he quickly averts his gaze back to the text book and I almost sigh with relief.

And then Jay passes me a scrap of paper:

_I heard Bea went commando last night. True or false?_

I give him a curt nod and duly respond to the silent high five.

But all the time, I swear I can feel someone watching me. When I chance another glance over at Randy, he is still hunched over, eyes down, with only a slight shade of pink creeping up his neck.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello again... Thanks to those who have read so far, reviewed, added this to their favourites/alerts - much appreciated. As promised, a more substantial chapter this time.

**WARNING:** Sex & slash

**DISCLAIMER:** I only own the OCs. No-one else. More's the pity.

Hope you like. x

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

I kick my way along the dirt track that leads outside the school building, from the locker room round to the main entrance. The low sun casts long shadows over me, but I'm grateful for once to be in the darkness, to be shielded, to be invisible. I slow deliberately, patting down my pockets, hunting out my cigarettes.

I pause and decide to draw out these sacred few minutes even more. I step onto the dying grass in the shadow of the building and lean against the wall, almost hidden from sight in one of it's many crevices. I light up and then slowly slide down the wall and stretch my legs out in front of me.

The cool bricks feel good against my sweat-soaked back. I left without taking a shower. I had to get out. Practice was enough torture. Bea sitting on the bleachers with the other girls, twirling her hair, blowing me fucking kisses. And then came the taunts from Rich and Jay – another _Basic Instinct_ reference and one of them would have been pissing blood.

I roll the cigarette between my fingers, watching the ash tremble and drop. I can hear a whistle blowing; cheer-leading practice coming to an end. The slam of the locker room door seems to vibrate through the wall. I hold my breath, wondering if they'll walk this way. My ears strain, but I hear nothing. Everything grows slowly silent.

Placing the cigarette between my lips, I get to my feet and dust off my pants. I take one last drag and stub it out against the wall and carry on along the path.

As I round the final corner I stop short.

Leaning against the gates, feet scuffing at the weeds that poke up between the concrete slabs, is Randy. I glance around warily, wondering where the rest of the team went. Or whether he had hung back himself, deliberately avoiding the confrontation that was bound to happen.

I'm not sure when this all started. I guess we were already set in our ways; cliques all organised when he turned up one day, half way through junior high. He stood out for a variety of reasons: too tall, too bulky, uninterested in football, basketball, baseball. Jay and Rich branded him a freak from the start.

Even when we all started to gain height, he still towered over everyone. And he was so quiet. He made no attempt to join a group, preferring to keep himself to himself. He sat alone at the back of classes, mumbled answers incoherently, yet seemed to have enough intelligence to impress his teachers. We couldn't figure him out. Or rather, we didn't give him a chance. We singled him out for being different from the word go.

Funny how things change. Funny how one day he crept into my head and curled up in a corner. And then slowly unravelled and wrapped himself around my mind, crushing it to pieces. Making me think. Making me wonder. Making me fantasise obsessively.

So I grabbed Bea. Kissed her, groped her, fucked her in the back of my car, behind the bins outside The Cavern, in the toilets, anywhere and everywhere, whenever he entered my mind. But that didn't work. He was still there. Making my stomach twist and turn, whenever he entered my mind or came into view.

Now I fuck her out of decency, out of politeness. I can't dump her. She thinks that we're going to college together, will live together, get married, have fucking kids. And even if I did dump her, what would I do? Pick up another girl? Not likely. The thought is terrifying. Bea is like my safety net. She makes me feel normal.

Because I'm not normal am I?

I can't be.

If I was, I would be happy with my lot in life. I would accept my fate. But I can't. I close my eyes and fuck him instead of her. If I imagined another girl that would be okay I guess – the norm in fact. But another guy? That's not even hot. It's definitely not on par with girls imagining themselves with other girls – I mean, that's accepted right? But not this way round.

I can't be normal.

I chew my lip and weigh up my options. I toy with the idea of walking back around the entire building and exiting at the side entrance. But all just to avoid him? What exactly is going to happen if I just walk past him? It's not like I'm going to be dragged into a conversation with him – we've barely spoken to each other since he arrived on the scene. Jay and Rich dish out the insults, whilst I stand in the background, watching them bully their way through the day, looking tough, over-seeing business. I play the part well. I let my honchos do the dirty work and pretend it was all my idea. Maybe that's worse. Who knows.

Just as I decide to suck it up and walk straight past, a car pulls up. Randy's head jolts up, suddenly he's standing to his full height, shoulders back, a proud stance, an almost swagger in his walk, as he approaches the vehicle. I can just about make out the dark swathe of hair of the driver, her sunglasses catching the low sun, as she leans out of the window and Randy kisses her on the cheek.

I pull back into the shadows, breathing heavily. I feel embarrassed. Ashamed, even more than before if that's possible. I have tormented myself for so long, imagined so many things, so many situations and not once did I even think that maybe, beyond these walls and fences, he might be someone else.

Or rather, someone else's.

* * *

><p>I lean back in the booth and take a sip of whatever Jay just placed in front of me. It's not nearly strong enough.<p>

"Where'd you disappear to after practice?" he questions.

I shrug. "Nowhere, I just wanted to get home."

"I didn't see your car out front when I drove past."

"I went and got some take out."

Jay nods, but his eyes don't seem satisfied with the answer. I tense myself for another line of questioning, but it never comes. Jay's eyes drift over to the bar where he spies a potential gaggle of conquests. Clapping me on the back, he disappears off in search of the next notch on the bedpost.

Rich slides into his place.

"Jay reckons that Randy dude needs telling once and for all to back off."

"Why? He didn't do anything. Someone else shoved him."

Rich raises an eyebrow and I instantly wish I could press rewind and erase at the same time.

"He keeps looking at you funny, man. I mean, like he's fucking obsessed with you or something. It's fucking creepy."

I shrug.

"Oh c'mon man, he just needs a little lesson in respect. Me and Jay thought maybe after last period tomorrow. He always walks around the back. We'll just have a word – nothing much. Maybe just knock some fucking sense into him, make him think a little bit straighter if y'know what he mean," he chuckles, giving me a knowing wink.

I scowl in return. "Whatever, just don't get fucking caught."

What else can I say? Defending Randy just makes it worse. And although standing back and letting Jay and Rich get on with it, isn't exactly great, I'm not exactly going to get in their firing line alongside him.

And anyway, what's the fucking point in sticking up for him? I was deluded. I mean, I knew that, but... There was all those glances. Today for example. He was looking at me. Straight at me. Why? Was it all really in my head? Was I just jumping to conclusions? Was the whole event just a coincidence?

Or... Is Rich right? Maybe he does have a weird obsession. Jealously maybe. From the outside, I have everything anyone could ever want in high school – who wouldn't want what I have? So yeah, jealously sounds about right. That would explain the narrowed eyes. But not the wide-eyes, the caught in the headlights look...

I take empty my glass and get up.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Rich waves me off, probably glad to get rid of me and my foul mood. I push through the crowd and out into the cool air.

"Hey baby."

I freeze as two arms circle around my waist, as a warm mouth presses against the back of my neck.

"I was just on my way to you," I lie.

Bea giggles. "Well I thought I would come surprise you."

"Well, you succeeded."

"Come here," she says, taking my hand and pulling me in the direction of the parking lot. But instead of heading towards her car, she pulls me down the alleyway between The Cavern and it's neighbour.

She pushes me up against the wall and her mouth is soon sliding over mine. I can taste vodka on her breath. I can almost picture her sneaking the bottle out of her parents' drinks cabinet, taking a few swigs in the darkness of her car, the alcohol hitting her too quickly as she waits for me to leave the bar, so she can make her move.

I should stop this. It isn't fair.

But her hands sliding down my chest, tugging my shirt from my pants, her warm hands slipping inside, are too hard to resist. Especially after today. I need to feel normal. I close my eyes and block out everything else apart from her. She plucks my shirt open, her mouth on my chest, my stomach. Her hands pushes my pants down slightly, pull my cock out and begin a steady stroke.

I breathe in sharply as her mouth slides over me, her tongue running over the under-side and then over the tip, making me squirm. I hiss as she build the pace. One hand grips my leg, the other pumping the base of my cock. I reach down and run my own hand over the back of her head, fingers entangling in her hair, as the burning sensation starts in the pit of my stomach and then spreads slowly south.

"Fuck," I hiss, opening my eyes for a brief second. I glance down, see her head bobbing back and forth in the half-light. I bite my lip. So fucking close.

"Bea," I breathe. I can almost feel her smile around my cock.

My head rolls back as I almost reach breaking point. My eyes are half-closed, but something moving at the entrance to the alleyway catches my attention. A shadow.

_Someone is fucking watching._

I stare into the shadows, wondering if my mind is playing tricks on me. But I can't concentrate: Bea's mouth is driving me insane and I'm so close... So...

The shadow moves again and this time, I catch a glimpse of someone tall. Too tall. They pause. And then a car crawls past, headlights bouncing off the walls for a brief second.

Randy stares at me, unblinking, his face unreadable, as I crack under Bea's incessant mouth and cum with a groan.

The headlights move away and I blink.

When I look back, eyes narrowed, the darkness is unmoving. And when we make our way back into the parking lot, he is nowhere to be seen.

All that's left is an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

So this is one of those horrible inbetween chapters that you have to write to move the story onwards and upwards. Apologies if it's a bit awkward and clumsy... I'm going to use the excuse that it reflects my OC's emotions... *ahem*

Anyway, I promise that things will definitely pick up from this point onwards. Cross my heart and all that... I have a plan (a 10 chapter plan so far...)

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Mr Orton.

**WARNING:** Mentions of sex acts. Slashy undertones (as always)

Hope you like. x

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

I decide to hang back at my locker longer than necessary and wait for the masses to subside before I join the stragglers. Normally, I would be first out the door. But that would mean seeing Jay and Rich who, despite saying they would go alone to their planned ambush, had a habit of picking me up on the way. If I hang back long enough, chances are they will get bored and slope off to do their dirty work without me.

After last night, I need some distance from him. From everyone.

I drove Bea home just after the incident, successfully managing to resist her drunken advances and then, when back in the safety of my own room, I laid on my back, stared at the ceiling and let my mind begin the over-analysis.

_He was watching._

Not us. Not her.

He was watching _me_. Staring _me_ straight in the eye.

Why?

If it had been me, if I had stumbled across two people fucking in an alleyway, sure, I would stop and stare. But only for a second or two. And I definitely wouldn't let myself be seen.

It was almost like he wanted to get caught. Like he wanted to stare me straight in the eye, as if he knew how much it would torture and torment me. As if he knew I would crawl into bed, close my eyes, grope for my cock and picture his face perfectly, in such detail, such closeness, as I jerk myself off furiously.

The questions have haunted me all night and all day. My eyes hurt from staring at blank pages, as I refused to let them wander over in his direction. I refuse to give myself away anymore than I already have.

I slam my locker and walk slowly down the corridor. Outside, Jay and Rich are nowhere to be seen. And neither is Randy. I pause and debate taking a lap of the building, as a sickening feeling washes over me. There was a time when I would have jumped in with them, beat the shit out of some poor freshman just for a laugh. There was a time when I would stand back, my arm around Bea, cigarette hanging from my mouth and watch as Jay and Rich pinned a guy against the wall outside the locker rooms and take it in turns to dish out the punches. In another world, I would be doing exactly that – watching Randy being humiliated, and probably enjoying every second.

Ignorance is bliss.

Well, that's what I tell myself. But even by the time I reach my car, I still haven't managed to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of guilt.

* * *

><p>I swing into the parking lot of The Cavern a few minutes later. I park up in my usual spot, switch the engine off and close my eyes for a second. When I open them, I swear my fucking heart stops.<p>

In the space opposite me is another car. A car that wasn't there before. And staring back at me...

_What is he doing here?_

I close my eyes again and breathe deeply, wondering if I've completely lost it. I open them slowly. The car is still there. And those eyes are still staring at me.

A cold trickle of sweat slowly makes its way down my back, twisting over my spine, making me shiver. I grip the steering wheel, but my hands are cold and clammy and they slip down the wheel to my lap. My mouth feels dry and I swear for a second, my vision blurs.

But I can't look away. I am fixated on him. I can't read his expression – he gives nothing away. Those eyes seem to cut straight through me. I feel naked. Exposed. My whole being laid bare in front of him with just one look.

And then he looks away.

I watch him tug the keys from the ignition, his head down, shoulders slumped forward, as he gets out the car. And then suddenly, I'm scrambling to get out myself. I'm striding towards him, words forming on the tip of my tongue, my mouth starting to open...

"Sorry."

I freeze.

"Sorry," he says again. "Last night. I..."

Everything I planned to say bolts from my mind, leaving me with nothing.

"I mean, I didn't like follow you guys or anything... I didn't even realise you guys were there. I was just waiting... And then... Shit... Sorry," he says, stumbling over his words, his voice literally trembling, his head still down.

I have to say something, anything.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

His head shoots up and he stares at me wide-eyed.

"Last... Last night..."

I shake my head. "Seriously dude, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You... You looked at me."

I shrug, praying my face portrays as much confusion as my voice.

He opens his mouth, but then closes it, as a light pink blush starts to creep up his neck.

Silence envelops us, as we both stare at the ground, at the sky, at the car, at anything except each other. I can't think of how to get out of this situation. To walk away says too much. To stay and try and form a decent sentence says even more. I wonder if he is thinking the same.

I scrape my sneaker over the concrete, catching a loose stone, making it crackle. The tension eases slightly, and I finally pluck up the courage to speak.

"What are you doing here anyway? I've never seen you hang out here."

He looks stunned by the question, surprised almost, but manages to gather his words together quickly to answer.

"My sister. I said I would drive her home."

I wonder if it's the truth or a very convincing lie.

"Right. Well... I'm going to..." I gesture to the entrance.

"Sure."

Just as I turn to leave, I hear a shout and see a girl running over to us.

"Hey, sorry I'm late Randy."

I eye her suspiciously. I swear I've seen her somewhere before. That dark hair...

She reaches up and cuffs Randy playfully around the head. "Who's your friend?" she smiles at me.

Randy mumbles something that I don't catch, but his sister gives me a wider grin, that I find strangely un-nerving.

"We should go." Randy opens the car door and climbs in.

His sister trots round to the passenger side and jumps in, giving me a small wave as they pull away. I stand motionless for a second, my mind slowly assessing what just happened.

Even when I'm sat in a dark corner booth, slumped down into the cracked leather, I'm still replaying those sacred five minutes over and over again. The look. The words. The silence that seemed to say so much. And then the sister.

_His sister._

I could almost laugh. But instead, I allow a small smile to tug at my lips. And let the relief wash over me.


	5. Chapter 5

Hope this makes all your Sundays a little bit more bearable. Things happen in this chapter. Oh yes.

_Italics_ = aah, that would be telling...

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Randy Orton.

**WARNING:** Just a teeny-tiny hint of slash... Shit, have I said too much?

Enjoy! :-)

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

"I think it was something I ate at lunch, coach," I half-croak, half-moan. Coach Stevenson eyes me suspiciously.

"What have I told you guys about eating crap from the canteen before training?"

"I only had a sandwich..."

He frowns. "Well, you don't look that good. And I don't think any of us will appreciate you chucking up on the pitch."

I nod slowly, one hand grasping my stomach, the other clinging to the wall as if it will stop me from keeling over at any second.

"Just go home. Sleep it off. And I don't want to hear the same excuse ever again. Without you, this team is screwed. Go." He heads into the locker room and I make my escape.

I keep the act up for a minute or so – limp, stomach-clutch, occasional heaving noise, until I pass the open windows of the locker room, and then quicken my step and almost break into a run. I can't face playing a part anymore – not today anyway.

The meeting outside The Cavern keeps running through my hand. Those few words keep echoing through my mind, as if he's there, whispering them in ear. I haven't seen him around for a few days, but yet he's still been ever presence. The unnerving feeling that I'm being watched has been following me around constantly. I'm unable to focus, to concentrate. My mind is all over the place. My thoughts all-consuming, more sick and twisted than ever. My dreams full of his face, looming out of the darkness. Closer, closer.

I round the corner of the building, entering the shadows. I pause as usual and fumble in my pocket for my cigarettes. Pulling the pack free, I dig deeper for my lighter that seems to have done a vanishing act.

A twig snaps behind me.

I glance over my shoulder and suddenly I feel sick for real.

Randy stands there, his gaze flicking from my face to his guilty foot and the recently decapitated twig. I can almost see his mind slowly working over the possibilities – to run or not to run, that is the question.

I'm debating the same thing. Do I stay and endure another awkward conversation or pretend to ignore him and walk away?

But, if either of us was going to leave, surely we would've walked away by now?

My fingers are still digging deep for my lighter, almost tearing from the lining of my pocket. I scowl at the ground and then glance up. Randy almost flinches. I sigh.

"You got a light?"

He blinks. His mouth opens, but says nothing.

"A light – have you got one?" I ask again.

He stares at me, his eyes full of confusion. But he retrieves one from his back pocket and slowly walks towards me.

Placing the cigarette between my lips, I take the offered lighter.

His fingers briefly brushes against mine. It's like I've been poked with a hot iron. The burn spreads like wildfire, my whole body electrified by one small, almost insignificant touch. My hand trembles slightly as I light up and then hand it back, carefully avoiding touching him for a second time.

I inhale deeply, watching him out of the corner of my eye. He stares at the lighter.

"Do you want one?" I mumble, holding out the pack.

He nods silently and takes one. The lighter clicks once more and I watch the smoke waft between us, slowly spiralling upwards.

"Why are you talking to me?" he murmurs.

I chew my lip and pretend not to hear him. But my mind is frantically trying to put together a coherent, sensible answer. Anything that doesn't reveal too much. In the end, I shrug.

"You've made my life a living hell since junior high."

"I never did. It was Jay and Rich," I mumble.

"Why?"

"What's with the questions?" I scowl. "I asked you for a light. That's all. Leave it that yeah?"

He says nothing more, but his look seems to say so much. The confusion in his eyes is still present, along with something else. Recognition. Of what? I feel like a fucking open book – he can peruse me at his leisure, discover so much more than I would ever want to reveal to anyone. Even Bea can't work me out sometimes – she pretends like she knows me. Maybe she should. Two years is a long time to get to know one. Yet she knows nothing.

Him? A few words and a smoke, and he seems to know me better than I know myself. How is that possible?

I have to go before something else happens, before I give away anymore. If there's anything left that is.

I stub the cigarette out against the wall.

"Thanks for the light."

I walk away quickly, maybe a little too quickly. I stuff my hands in my pockets to stop them shaking. My heart is pounding and I can feel a thin layer of sweat forming on my face, the back of my neck, in the palms of my hands.

At the next corner, I chance a look back.

Randy is standing there, cigarette hanging between his lips. Once again, I can't read his expression. Yet this time, I don't feel uncomfortable.

I feel enamoured.

* * *

><p><em>Randy blows smoke into my face, his lips curling into a smile. His mouth moves, uttering words that don't reach my ears. I strain to hear him, but all I can hear is thick silence, the kind of silence that's so silent, the only sound you can hear is the sound of blood pumping in your ears.<em>

_But actions speak louder than words. And I can read these actions perfectly. I can feel the rough edges of brick digging into my back, tearing at my shirt as he moves closer and closer. He raises his cigarette to his mouth and then pauses, his eyes dancing. Slowly, his hand moves to my mouth, placing the cigarette between my lips. I breathe in and only then do I realise what I could previously smell; the taste of weed hits the back of my throat and I struggle not to cough. Randy's eyes gleam, his mouth breaking into a wide grin, an almost girlish giggle cutting through the silence. I inhale again and slowly reach out to him._

_Cupping a hand around his neck, I pull him close, eager to feel his mouth on mine. His lips touch mine, slowly opening as I start to exhale into his mouth. My fingers dig into the back of his neck, eliciting a noise that seems to reverberate through my entire body, as the kiss deepens and he presses his whole body against me._

_His hands sink between us, deftly un-doing my pants, slipping inside. They feel so much smaller than I had imagined. More skilled, more sure of themselves. I harden instantly at his touch, and I can feel a small smirk of satisfaction twitch along his lips. His fingers run along my cock, soft, teasing strokes. I growl impatiently into his mouth and he chuckles back, his teeth catching my bottom lip, as if he knows that's exactly what I like._

_He lets me turns the tables easily. His back is up against the wall, his fingers digging into my shoulder, his mouth biting at the flesh as I pick him up and push into him. He yelps into my shoulder, frozen for a second and then softly moans as I start to move. His heels dig into my ass, his fingers making feathery touches along the back of my neck, sending fucking goosebumps down my spine. I bury my face in his neck, breathe in his scent..._

_He sighs my name over and over again, his voice echoey, husky, too light, too girly..._

Bea bites my earlobe as she comes. I feel her tense around me, hear her whimper.

I blink back the tears and bury my head deeper into her neck, as I shudder and slump against her.


	6. Chapter 6

So Sunday rolls around again and here I am with another chapter for you. This new writing pattern I've got going is working out quite well!

**WARNING:** Slashy thoughts and masturbation...

**DISCLAIMER:** OC, Bea & others are mine. Randy Orton is sadly not.

Hope you likey x

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

I sit curled in the corner of the sofa, MTV turned down to a soft murmur, a bowl of half-eaten cereal in my hands. I toy with the spoon, scooping up the now too-soggy-to-eat flakes, eyeing them up and then returning them to bowl with a sickening squelch.

It's 5am.

Over the past week, I've seen this time way too often. In fact, the early hours are now when I'm at my most focused. I sit on the sofa, or lie in bed and everything feels calm. The minute I step outside, sit in my car and start the drive to school, things start to unravel. It takes all my energy to keep everything from crashing into each other. I feel like I'm walking a fucking tightrope – Bea balanced on one side and my turmoil of emotions threatening to tumble over the edge on the other.

Keeping my emotions in check used to be easy. Not anymore. Not when Randy keeps appearing everywhere I look. I wonder if he was always there in the past and I just chose to ignore him. I never realised how many classes we had together. I never noticed how close his locker is to mine, or how he is always only a few places ahead of me in the lunch queue, or how he drives the same route to school as me.

Or how he also seems to favour walking the long way around the school after last class.

On Friday afternoon, as I offered him my lighter, I joked that he was stalking me.

He raised an eyebrow as he lit his cigarette, exhaled and looked at me square in the eyes and said he'd been thinking the same about me.

Only then did I realise how much I like the feeling that courses through me when he speaks.

A feeling that I can't quite put my finger on.

* * *

><p>Bea's cool fingers slip from my hand as I push open the door to the bathroom. I glance over my shoulder and she shoots me a quizzical look.<p>

"I'll catch you up in math?"

She flashes me her teeth and turns on her heel, hair swinging from side to side as she strides down the hall.

I back into a cubicle, close the door and slide the lock into place. I lean against it and breathe a sigh of relief.

Bea managed to flag me down on my way to school, completely disrupting my morning routine. She jumped in the passenger seat, her skirt edging so far up her legs I could tell the colour of her underwear, leant over and smothered my lips with hers.

"_Let's skip first period," she whispered huskily._

_I shook my head._

"_Please," she moaned, her hand sliding over my thigh, moving up to cup my crotch, her fingers toying with the zipper. "I'll make it worth your while..."_

I pushed her away and let her sulk the rest of the way. Only when we pulled up outside school did I relent slightly. I slipped my arm around her hunched shoulders and kissed her cheek and forehead. I could practically feel her thawing in my arms, making me feel even worse. She quickly forgot about my earlier rebuff and spent the first two periods sending me notes containing promises of what she had in store for later.

I fumble in my pocket where I had stashed them to stop both of us getting into unnecessary shit and tear them into two and chuck them into the toilet. The sound of the flush echoes around the room.

I could feel Randy watching the entire thing. I even caught him looking. Bea had slid her final promise across the desk, a look of pure innocence on her face as she raised her hand and started to give her opinion on why so-and-so had done what they'd done in whatever book we were supposed to have read. I had given the note a quick glance, trying desperately to hide my repulsion at her latest suggestion and then looked up straight into the eyes of Randy. Why was he looking at me? I then realised that the whole fucking class had their head turned in my direction. It took me a few seconds to realise that they were all listening and watching Bea.

Except Randy.

His eyes were firmly on me.

I close my eyes and slide my hand slowly down to my pants. I ease the zipper down as quietly as I can and ease my cock free. I picture those eyes once again. They watch me, his head slightly cocked to one side. They narrow, as his lips curl upwards into a smile, and then a grin, as I quicken the pace. His tongue slips out and he licks his lips as he comes closer towards me. I can hear him in my head, his voice echoing around as he whispers to me. He tells me things. Words that send shivers down my spine, as he circles me. I can't see him, but I can feel him, behind me, pressing against me, his lips on the back of my neck, teeth sinking in, as his hand slides over mine.

I lean forward, propping myself up against the wall with one arm as my other pumps my cock over and over again. My breath comes in short raspy gasps and I have to bite my lip hard to stop myself from screaming as I come over my hand and the toilet seat.

I clean myself up slowly and carefully, trying to steady my breathing, desperate to compose myself. I flush the toilet again, eyeing it suspiciously for any tell-tale strands. I glance down and notice a speck of cum on the waist band of my pants and frantically rub it away. I take a deep breath and try to rearrange my face into a neutral expression as I slide the lock from the cubicle door and step out.

A cold sweat washes over me.

Randy glances up from the sink and catches my eye in the mirror.

I watch myself go red. His face remains expressionless.

He leans down and grabs his backpack from the floor and slings it over his shoulder. He turns and quickly walks out of the bathroom.

He gives nothing away and leaves me thinking the worst.

That maybe, despite my best efforts, his name somehow slipped from my lips.

* * *

><p>I grasp the neck of the beer bottle in one hand and push through the crowded bar. After today's events, I thought it would be the best place to come and forget. But quite the opposite. I can't hear anyone who talks to me, yet my thoughts still manage to get through. They don't even need to scream to be heard. They just sidle up and whisper in my ear and drag me back to the bathroom. I observe it from all angles. And every time, I end up cowering in shame and embarrassment. Unfortunately, I'm still unable to recall what happened before I walked out of the cubicle. So the question still remains: did I, or did I not, say his name? And if I did... Fuck.<p>

I push open the door to the parking lot and stand for a moment, relishing the cool air on my face and the silence that surrounds me. I glance to my right and see a few metres down, leaning against the wall, a familiar figure.

He turns and catches my eye.

"Hey," I murmur.

He nods in response. I shift further along the wall, closing the gap between us and take a long swig of beer.

I watch out of the corner of my eye as he places a cigarette between his lips and lights it, the warm glow highlighting his features for a second or two. We stand in silence for a moment, listening to the thud of music from The Cavern.

The door crashes open and a strip of light shines over the parking lot for a second, before the shadow of two people forms in front of it. I freeze as I recognise one of the voices.

"No-one will see us, promise baby..." Rich slurs, as the girl in his arms half-giggles, half-protests as he man-handles her between two cars that are way too close for comfort.

Randy slides away from the wall and silently moves between the cars. I pause for a moment. I could quite easily leave. I could even walk right past Rich and congratulate him on his latest conquest without any harm.

But something stops me. Something makes me turn in the opposite direction and follow Randy.

We edge past a few cars, before he stops and slides to the ground. I slide down next to him. Rich and the girl are still way too close, but we can't go any further without being spotted; we're at the edge of the parking lot and trapped between the final car and the wall.

I take another swig from the beer bottle and then without looking at him, offer it to Randy.

He accepts, his fingers brushing over mine as he does. He takes a long swig and then hands it back. I hear ash crackle as he inhales and then his low breath as he exhales.

His fingers brush against my arm.

I turn and take the proffered cigarette. It's burnt low and I have no choice to slide my fingers over his and prise it from his grasp. The tip is slightly crushed from his lips and feels warm and damp.

Neither of us say a word as we sit and listen to Rich and the girl fuck on the hood of a car.

We finish the beer and smoke two more cigarettes between us, as the grunts and moans drift over to us.

And all the while I wonder what he's doing here. But even when Rich is gone and Randy gets to his feet, dusting off his pants, I don't dare ask.


	7. Chapter 7

I'll keep this short and sweet - thank you to all of you who read, favourite, alert this story and those of you have commented up til now. This chapter is a thank you to you all for sticking with it. Hope the pay off is a good sign of what's to come.

**WARNING:** Slash.

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Mr Orton.

Enjoy x

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

I take my time, lathering up the soap, creating way too much froth and bubble than necessary, as I strain to hear if there's anyone left in the locker room. A door bangs and the voices fade away.

This new routine is practically perfect.

I hang back at the end of training, discuss tactics with coach, maybe have a 20 minute one-on-one session, anything to improve my game. Or rather, I'll do anything to be the last out of the locker room, a decent distance behind the others, giving me a chance to sneak off out of the back entrance of school and climb 10 minutes or so up to the woods.

It was Randy's idea. In the few words we've exchanged over the past month, he suggested that hanging out on school ground wasn't a great idea – too risky. What if one of the team came back unexpectedly? Or the caretaker found us? I'd been thinking the same, but I didn't want to admit how dangerous this situation was getting for me. Maybe he'd guessed. Or maybe he was just watching his own back. Either way, it was a smart move.

So every Tuesday and Thursday, I hang back, wait until the coast is clear and then head into the woods. Very rarely am I the first to arrive. Randy is always waiting in the same small clearing, leaning against the same tree, staring at the same patch of grass.

Today will be no different.

* * *

><p>As I come over the crest of the hill, I can't help but smile to myself: I was right, as usual. But as I near, I see that he's already started on the beer that has now become a tradition. Or a necessity, depending how you look at it.<p>

"Hey."

He nods in response and hands over an unopened bottle. I twist the lid and take a gulp. It's warm and tastes flat.

"Sorry, I had to sneak them out the house and they've been sitting in the trunk of my car," he mumbles.

I shrug.

He slumps down the tree trunk and half-squats, half-sits at the base. I take my usual position: leaning against the moss-covered rock a few feet away.

A comfortable silence falls, broken only by Randy lighting a cigarette and the slap of beer against glass whenever either of us take a swig of beer.

Hours can pass like this. We sit in silence, too afraid to say too much. Or is it awkwardness that stops us? Maybe both. I still wonder if he heard me all those weeks ago. We haven't even spoken about that night at The Cavern – yet that seemed to be the beginning. We never decided to start meeting. It just happened. And then Randy suggested here and I nodded. We sit, mumble a few words, drink and smoke until it's dark and we realise that maybe we should go home before the questions start.

Neither of us has bailed. I'm not sure what would happen if one of us didn't show. Would the trust be lost? Or would it depend on who was the no-show? If Randy didn't show, I'd probably shrug it off and still turn up next time. If I did the same to him... I'm not sure. Every time these days roll around, I'm on edge, wondering what or who is going to stop me. Is practice going to be cancelled and I'll have no choice but to leave as normal and won't be able to escape from Bea's clutches? Or will practice go on too long for me to hang back and delay showering and leaving with the others and I'll be forced to go The Cavern with Jay and Rich? But every time has come and gone with no disruptions.

At first, Randy seemed surprised when I showed, as if he thought every meeting might be the last. But slowly, the look of surprise faded to relief and then to indifference; now, he barely acknowledges my arrival, but there is something there, when he meets my eyes as I come up the hill, that tells me that he's pleased I'm there.

He throws me his lighter and I fish out my own crumpled pack of cigarettes. I click the lighter, but nothing happens. I try again and then shake it furiously.

Without a word, Randy closes the gap between us. He leans towards me, holding his cigarette out to me. The end touches mine and I inhale deeply.

His eyes burn into mine, and as usual, it's impossible to look away.

I exhale and blow smoke in his face. He blinks, scowls for a second and then quickly draws all emotion away from his face.

Instead of retreating back to his position at the base of the tree, he pauses for a second and then shuffles to lean against the rock as well, his left arm barely inches away from my right.

The silence continues to wrap itself around us. Leafs rustle in the trees above, Randy coughs, ash crackles, I clear my throat, but still no words are spoken. I finish the cigarette, stub it out on the rock and take another swig of beer.

"What's the deal with you and Bea?"

My mouth goes dry. I glance at Randy out of the corner of my eye. He's staring straight ahead, but as he raises his drink to his lips I can see his hand is shaking slightly.

The question hangs in the air, as I struggle to think of the right words, the right answer. Do I admit the truth? The truth being every second spent with Bea is full of deceit and lies, that my skin crawls when she touches me and that whenever she leaves, upset because I refuse to have sex with her, I feel guilty and disgusted with myself.

But as I already know, the truth is too hard to admit.

I shrug. "We're together I guess."

"You guess?"

"We're together," I say firmly.

"Right."

Something in that one word tells me he doesn't believe me.

"Why do you ask?"

Now it's his turn to shrug. "I just wondered."

He wondered? Are the cracks that have been brewing behind closed doors over the past few weeks starting to show? But I know that Bea's smile has started to become a little too fixed when she looks at me, her mouth a little colder, her insistence to always hold hands or to have my arm wrapped around her shoulder has waned and her friends have been shooting me death-like looks. So maybe it's no wonder that Randy, the ultimate observer, has noticed.

"Thanks for your concern, but I don't think it's really any of your business," I mutter, getting to my feet.

He doesn't say anything as I walk away.

* * *

><p>I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, as I wait for the light to turn green. I lift one hand and watch in the street-light as it trembles. I shake it angrily and return to drumming to an imaginary beat.<p>

I have to find him.

As I walked away earlier, I had an overwhelming urge to turn back and tell him the truth. But I was too angry. I was angry that he asked. I was angry with myself for lying. Above all, I was scared. He was so close – it was like he already knew what the real answer was. And my lie just proved it. So why would he follow me? He'd got what he wanted.

Or...

Maybe he has no idea. Maybe he was digging for a clue. Maybe he took my answer at face-value. So why would he follow me – he got what he thought was the truth. End of story.

As much as I'm scared, I know I have to tell him. I don't have to tell him the reasons. I just have to tell someone, anyone, that what they see isn't real. I'm fed up of the lies. I lie to myself, to Bea, to my mom, Jay, Rich, the entire school. And as silent as Randy can be and how his tendency to remain emotionless un-nerves me at times, I think in a way he is the best person to tell. There won't be a raised eyebrow, a shocked look, an open mouth and a stream of abuse. There will be silence and a curt nod.

That's all I need.

The light turns green and I hit the gas. I have to find him quick. Before I bottle it. The only place I think of is The Cavern. The risk of being caught is high and the chances of him actually being there are pretty damn slim, but the alternative is waiting till Thursday. And by then, it might be too late.

I swing into the parking lot, slow and do a long sweep of the place. I don't dare park in my usual spot – no need to draw attention to myself. So I slot in between two cars at the far end of the back row. I kill the engine and sit in darkness for a moment. The parking lot is quiet, but I can hear the faint thump of music coming from the bar. My heart is going at a similar pace.

Something catches my eye. Movement by the alleyway. The light at the end of it is dim, but I swear there is someone there.

My hands start to shake once more as I get out of the car and make my way towards the alleyway.

Randy is leaning against the wall, feet scuffing the floor. He glances up. Did he just smile, or was it just my imagination?

I stand awkwardly opposite him.

"Hey."

"Hey," he replies.

I take a deep breath. "So when I said that me and... Well when I said we're y'know... That's not really... It's not the truth."

Randy doesn't say anything. In the dim light his eyes look like black holes, half his face cast in shadow. But I can feel him watching me intensely.

"Everyone thinks we're the perfect couple. Even her. But we're not... She... She's erm..." my mouth goes dry. To say it out loud, means that it's real. "She's a cover."

Randy still doesn't say anything.

"Fuck," I mutter. "Look, just forget it. We... We didn't have this conversation right? And... well... See you around."

I turn to go. Seriously, what was I thinking? That he would jump for fucking joy? That he'd congratulate me like we're on the football pitch and I just scored the winning point? No. Because if I were him, I would be fucking shocked too. I would be freaked out. I would think what the hell is this guy doing – fucking the hottest girl in school, but all the while thinking of someone else. And not just someone else, a fucking guy. Jesus Christ. What the hell have I just done?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Randy move.

But what I don't expect is his hand to curl around my wrist. To grip it tightly, firmly. I desperately try to pull myself free, but he holds on, pulling me back, further down the alleyway, pushing me against the wall, moving closer, barely an inch between us.

And what I definitely don't expect is his mouth on mine.


	8. Chapter 8

Firstly, sorry for the delay in posting this. I meant to write and post it last weekend but lack of inspiration meant that couldn't happen. Again, this is one of those difficult, awkward chapters (both in content and process!), but I hope you will all bear with me (and won't be too mad!). Good things come to those who wait and all that.

**WARNING:** slash

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Randy Orton.

Enjoy x

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

Under the covers, I can hear the shrill shriek of my alarm clock informing me for the fifth time that I really need to get up. I sneak a hand out and fumble for the off switch. A welcomed silence fills the air. I retract my hand and pull the covers tighter around me, burying my face deeper into the pillows, desperate to stay where I am, determined not to get out of bed until absolutely necessary.

I don't think I can face another day like the past ten. Because for the past ten days I have had nowhere to escape, nowhere to hide and nothing to look forward to. Everywhere I turn, Bea is there. Slipping her hand through mine, gripping it tightly and firmly, a determined look in her eye and way too much falseness in her smile.

There are no more secret meetings after football practice. Bea is there, waiting, inching her skirt a little higher, arching her back and pushing her chest out, ready to tug me back to my car where she sits astride me, kissing me desperately, leaving red lipstick over my mouth, chin, neck, chest, stomach...

But even if she wasn't there, those meetings would still be history. Because I fucked it up.

I've kicked myself ever since. Why? Why did I push him away with no explanation? Why did I wipe my mouth like I wanted to rid myself of him? Why did I walk away with out a word, leaving him in the alleyway probably asking these very questions to himself?

I pushed him away because I needed to breathe.

I wiped my mouth out of habit.

And I walked away because I heard voices and panicked.

So maybe it was no surprise that when I turned up as usual after Thursday practice, he wasn't there. I waited for an hour. He never showed. So I decided not to show the next Tuesday, or the following Thursday, or ever again.

Even at school, he's avoiding my eye. I don't feel him watching me anymore and I never catch him staring like before. Instead, I watch him – I watch him at his locker, I watch him doodle in his notebook in the library, I watch him in the lunch queue. Yet he seems completely oblivious. As if what happened meant nothing or if it did, it was all forgotten, in the past, never to be dragged into the harsh light of day.

Maybe he thinks that I've forgotten it too. He couldn't be further from the truth.

Little does he know that I have been replaying that night over and over again in my head ever since. I remember every little detail: how slightly chapped his lips were, how his fingers linked through my mine for a brief second, how hot and determined his tongue was, how I could feel his heart beating as his chest pressed hard against mine, how if I think hard enough I can almost feel all those things, taste him once again on my lips, my tongue.

I roll onto my back and curl my fist around my cock. I squeeze my eyes shut and imagine what could have been.

* * *

><p>Bea slams my locker shut, missing my nose by an inch. Her mouth is curled into an unpleasant snarl.<p>

"Where were you?" she hisses.

I wrack my brain for a decent answer. I'm not entirely sure where I was supposed to be or when or even why.

"Last night. You were supposed to come over."

Oh fuck.

"I... I didn't feel well," I mutter.

"Oh really?"

"Yes," I scowl, turning away from her.

"Don't you dare walk away from me!" Bea's voice reaches an unbelievable screech. "You were at the fucking Cavern! Jessica saw you."

I freeze.

"Go on. Deny it."

I can feel more than her eyes on me. The corridor seems to have come to a stand still, a deafly silence drowning out the murmurs and whispers.

I turn around slowly and stare at her.

"So what? You think you can keep me on a fucking leash?"

"I have to! You sneak off whenever you want. You stand me up. No-one knows where you go. Where do you go hmm?" she questions, stalking slowly towards me. "You just seem to disappear."

I bite my tongue.

"What little slut have you got on the side huh? That cheerleader from Weston High? Or that one from Northgate Prep? I heard them talking about you. And I saw you watching them when they were here last month."

I want to laugh.

"Is that why you went to The Cavern last night? Some dirty little meet up with those two airheads? A quick fumble in the alleyway and then you'd come crawling back to me when you're finished?"

This could go one way or the other. I could quite easily draw out the torture, make her think that's the truth. Or I could confess my undying love for her in front of the whole school.

Or I could just walk away, like the coward I am.

I walk towards her and for a second, her face lights up, her lips almost press together in expectance, but I side-step her and walk away.

Her wail follows me down the corridor, as do the whispers and stares. But no one can meet my eye. Only one person. Randy watches from his locker. His eyes steady, unblinking.

* * *

><p>Bea refuses to speak to me for the rest of the day. I'm left on my own at the back of every class, watching as she bullies people out of their seats so she can sit as far away from me as possible. Every so often she shoots me a death look and then whispers something to her coven sisters, who then shoot daggers at me as well. Even Jay and Rich are keeping a wide berth.<p>

So I sit and wallow in self pity. How could I let things get so out of control? How did I lose grip on everything? Bea and I have been strained for weeks, but since the kiss, I was doing everything I could do be the perfect boyfriend once again. But maybe she realised that my good intentions weren't out of affection or love, but out of guilt.

I know that if I were a regular boyfriend I should be thinking of a way to make it up to her. I should be writing a letter of apology or at the very least thinking about how to get her alone after school so I can explain.

But I'm not a regular boyfriend.

Every time I think of Bea, her face seems to dissolve into Randy's. I wonder endlessly what that look meant. His expression was unreadable as usual, but I swear there was a flicker of understanding. Maybe he realised that what I told him that night was true. That me and Bea are not what people think. That maybe I pushed him away innocently and that I ran away because out of the two of us I have the most to lose.

The only way I will know for sure is to talk to him again.

I tear a scrap of paper out of my notebook and scrawl a hasty message.

_Meet me at the usual place. We need to talk._

I fold it and slip into my pocket. I raise my hand and excuse myself to go to the bathroom.

Out in the empty corridor I half-walk, half-jog towards the lockers. Randy's is the last one on the left and as I near, I notice how the door is slightly bent at the bottom, leaving a small gap. I slip the note in quickly.

And then all I can do is pray.

* * *

><p>I slump down against the rock and light a third cigarette. It wasn't hard to slip away from Bea after school. She flounced off without saying goodbye, providing me with the opportunity I needed.<p>

But now I'm thinking this was a waste of time. I've been here for an hour already and still no sign of Randy.

My mind goes into over-drive with reasoning. Maybe he didn't go to his locker after school. Or maybe he did, but I had pushed the note under something and he didn't see it. Or maybe he did get the note, but I was too late and he really doesn't want anything to do with me anymore.

Maybe I read too much into that look. And instead of the understanding I thought I saw, it was realisation instead. The realisation that Bea was dangerously close to the truth.

I wait for another two cigarettes.

But he never shows.


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, add to their favourites/alerts as always. Nothing much else to say apart from I hope you all enjoy.

**WARNING:** Slash.

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Randy Orton (although he's on my Christmas wish list)

Enjoy :-)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

Bea slides my arm around her shoulders and moves as close as she can to me. Which is difficult when there's an armrest between us. She offers me the popcorn, and despite the fact I refuse, she still takes a few and pushes them into my mouth, giggling. I roll my eyes and give in. She rests her head on my shoulder, satisfied, as she toys with my fingers.

I apologised.

For something I didn't do.

After Randy didn't show, I went round to Bea's and said sorry. She accepted without hesitation which was odd, but I didn't question it. I told her it wasn't true, that I shouldn't have let her doubt me. She shrugged and then pulled me up to her bedroom to cement our relationship once more. Throughout, instead of her over-exaggerated expressions and moans, her smile was more content than I had ever seen. She actually seemed blissfully happy.

The strange thing is that since the argument, I haven't seen Randy. The first day, I thought maybe he was avoiding me. We only had one class together that day and I presumed he'd skipped it on purpose, but it was odd that his name wasn't called at registration. And that when our latest assignments were returned, there were none left at the bottom of the pile, even though I remembered watching Randy hand his in the previous week.

And then he wasn't in either of our classes the following day. Or the next. No-one seemed to question his absence. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air. It was just strange.

Strange too how Bea's behaviour has changed in Randy's absence. Her moods less erratic, her urge to know my every move less so and her tendency to force me into public displays of affection disappearing every day. As if the threat of me deserting her has been eradicated.

Bea twists in her seat, pressing her lips to my neck, her hand slowly making its way up my thigh, her fingers stealthy seeking out my pants' zipper. She slips her hand inside and starts a slow steady stroke.

I close my eyes, grateful for the darkness of the movie theatre. She can't see my face – the flicker of ecstasy as I imagine someone else's hand, as the strokes get firmer and faster, until I cum hard, biting Bea's bottom lip to stop myself from giving the game away.

Because despite of everything, I still have to stop myself screaming out his name.

* * *

><p>Monday lunch time and still no sign of Randy. I even take twice as long to swap my books between my locker and backpack, all the time watching his locker in the vain hope that he will suddenly sidle out of a classroom and my worst fears will be banished.<p>

But as I already know – life isn't that good.

Over the weekend, as Bea lay in my arms asleep, my mind went into over-drive at the endless reasons for his absence. An emergency family trip out of town to visit a sick relative, or worse, a funeral. Or maybe something a little less morbid – a wedding, a birthday. How would I know? I know nothing about him other than what he's told me. Which is hardly anything. Facts and life histories aren't, or weren't, part of our relationship. I know his name. He knows mine. I know his age because we're in the same year. I know he has a sister because of that one chance meeting. That's it.

All I know for sure, is that when I walked away from that argument with Bea, it was the last time I saw him.

The one fact scares me the most.

Jay and Rich nudge past me, jolting me out of my thoughts in an instant.

"What, no Bea?" Rich grins. "Thought she never let you out of her sight."

I frown and he laughs.

"Where have you been anyway? She obviously still keeps you pretty close – you haven't been to The Cavern all weekend. What's up with that?"

I shrug, one eye still on Randy's locker.

I'm caught red-handed: Jay turns and follows my gaze. He nudges Rich ,who does the same. When they both look back at me, each has a smirk plastered across his face.

"Missing your stalker?" Rich asks, his smirk turning into a wide grin. "You owe us, dude."

"For what?"

"Put it this way, he won't be bothering you anymore."

"What did you do?" I ask cautiously.

"What does it matter? He's been dealt with."

"What the fuck did you do?" I hiss. Rich's smile falters slightly.

Jay pushes past him and stares me straight in the eyes. "Like Rich says – why does it matter? You wanted him to be taught a lesson. We did that. End of fucking story."

"I never asked you to do anything."

"You said not to tell you. Big fucking difference." Jay's eyes narrow as he stares me down.

I slam the locker door shut and stuff my hands into my pockets, so they can't see them shaking uncontrollably.

"Next time you do something stupid," I practically growl, "Listen to what I say. And don't fucking tell me."

I push past them and stalk away, my mind once again going into over-drive. Only this time, I'm thinking what the hell to do next.

* * *

><p>I pull over and kill the engine. It's now or fucking never.<p>

I lean forward and gaze up at the house, swallowing hard as my mind calculates that the front right bedroom must be Randy's. The light is dim and I can see the flickering lights of a TV; the lounge lights and the second bedroom at the front are a lot brighter.

After I left Jay and Rich, I went to the library and found the local phone book. There weren't many Ortons in town. I wrote down the two addresses and struck lucky with the first – I recognised the sister's car. But now that I'm here, I'm wondering if this is such a good idea. What can I say that's going to make this situation any better? Especially seen as I already know the answer is nothing.

But I can't control my limbs. My hand shoots out and grabs the keys, opens the door and my legs steer me out of the car and across the street, before I can think. I'm knocking on the door and chewing my lip before I realise that maybe I should have stayed in the car and driven away. My usual cowardly ways thwarted by my own body.

The door opens and for the second time, I come face to face with his sister.

"Hi," she says, giving me a curious look.

"Hi." I pause. "Is... Is Randy in?"

She nods. "I've seen you before haven't I?"

"Outside The Cavern."

"Right." She chews her lip for a second. "Funny how you've never come round before."

"I only found out today what happened."

She leans against the doorframe. "So what did happen? He won't say."

Fuck.

"Well..." I stammer, "I... I just heard that he was off sick."

"That's one way of putting it," she says slowly. "Another way is to say that he came home last Wednesday with a bloody nose, a black eye and so many bruises on his stomach, he had to go to the hospital to check he didn't have internal bleeding."

I can almost feel the colour draining from my face.

"I... I didn't realise," I mumble.

She gives me a hard stare and then softens. "Maybe you should go see him then. He needs a friend right now."

I make my way up the stairs, glancing back as I reach the top. She points to the right.

"Second door."

I nod in thanks.

The door is closed, but I can hear the low murmur of the TV. I hesitate for a moment, before knocking. But it's not like I have any other option – going back downstairs makes this whole situation even more awkward. What friend would do that? Not that his sister seems to believe that I am. She could see straight through me. Her eyes piercing and knowing, just like his.

I tap lightly on the door.

"Go away, mom," Randy's voice sounds strained.

I push the door open slightly.

"I said, go away."

I push the door open further and step into his room.

Randy's gaze moves from the TV to the door and he visibly jumps.

I stand there frozen.

He doesn't take his eyes off me as he scrambles with one hand for the sheets to cover up – but it's too late. I blink and the image is still there, ingrained in my mind forever: Randy Orton wearing nothing but boxer shorts. I almost have to pinch myself.

"Sorry." I finally mumble. "I... Your sister told me to come up..."

He doesn't say anything. Just keeps on staring.

"What happened?" I ask, moving slightly closer.

He returns his gaze to the TV. "Jay and Rich."

"What did they do?" I ease myself into the chair that's a few feet away from his bed.

"They jumped me after school. Almost like they knew where I would be." He turns to look at me once again and now that I'm closer, I can see the purple bruise around his right eye, the lid half-closed. I swallow hard, balling my hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

"They told me to back off. To leave you alone. And... then I was on the floor. I don't know what happened in coach found me. They say I'm lucky not to have fractured ribs."

He turns back to the TV.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out.

"Did you know about it?"

I chew my lip and stare at my fists. What can I say? That I knew that it was going to happen but not when? That I didn't realise _what_ would happen?

"Did you know about it?" he repeats. I can feel his eyes on me.

I shake my head. "No."

He doesn't say anything, but I can still feel him watching me closely.

"Why d'you do it?" he finally says.

"Do what?"

"Hang out with them."

I shrug. "I don't know."

It's like he knows exactly what I ask myself every day – I put on a face for Bea, sure, but the fact that I put on a face for Rich and Jay definitely says a lot more. From the outside it might look like they're the ones who constantly have to prove themselves to me, but the truth is, that I'm the one vying for their respect. My every move is carefully watched, my opinions are assessed and measured and if one day I'm not deemed worthy enough of their loyalty and respect, well... I would be the one on the receiving end of a punch and a kick to the stomach.

"I don't know," I say again. "I'm stuck. No escape. They expect things of me. And if I don't live up to that... well..."

"You'd be the one with the black eye," he finishes.

"Or worse." I glance up and meet his gaze.

He nods slowly.

"I should go... I just... I heard what happened and just wanted to see that you were okay." I stand up. "I... I'm sorry."

His hand slides out towards me, his fingers curling around my wrist. He tugs me gently towards the bed. The springs creak as he slowly shifts sideways, making enough room for me to sit on the edge of the bed. His hand slides over mine, his fingers inter-locking with mine as he struggles to sit up.

As I turn my head to look at him, as I feel his hand grip mine tightly, as I watch his eyes slowly close, I know that I'm way out of my depth.

But as his swollen and bruised lips touch mine, as his mouth slowly opens and my tongue dances against his, as my free hand creeps up his arm and confidently cups the back of his head, as his mouth presses harder against mine and as I hear and feel him groan softly, I know that there's no way back.


	10. Chapter 10

I hope this is a little treat for everyone who's stuck with this so far - Lord knows I _love_ a slow burn...

After much deliberation, I've decided to split what was supposed to be one chapter into two, so think of this as a little taster of what's to come...

**WARNING:** Slash. Lots. Of.

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Randy Orton.

Hope you all likey x

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

Summer break. Every year, those two words have filled me with dread, rather than excitement. Those words usually mean endless days and nights trapped with Bea – days spent in the back of my truck, down by the lake or twisted up in my bed sheets. Evenings spent chilling with Rich and Jay, getting wasted in each other's back yards, trucks or at The Cavern. I couldn't go a day without seeing one of them.

But this year...

This year is different.

This year Bea is off on a road trip to celebrate graduation.

This year Jay and Rich have gone to Mexico for the summer to fuck, drink and get high.

And me?

I'm stuck here. Finally, left in peace. No disruptions, no unwanted company. Just me. And...

Randy coughs.

I pull my mind back into the present and glance over at him.

He holds out another beer, already opened, the cool steam oozing gently from the neck. A cigarette, unlit, hangs from his lips, his shirt wide open as he basks in the sunlight.

As I take the beer and watch him lie back, light the cigarette and close his eyes, I almost have to pinch myself. The line between reality and my dreams still feels a little blurred. The fear is always with me – the fear that I will wake up and things will be back to how they used to be, with Bea lying next to me, Jay or Rich calling me up go score some weed or get wasted.

The fear that none of this has actually happened – that is all a figment of my imagination.

I tear my gaze away from Randy and stare fixedly ahead for a moment. But even though I know he's still there from the sound of his breathing, the smell of cigarette smoke, I have to reassure myself. So I turn once again and watch him. Strange how the tables have turned – I rarely feel his eyes on me anymore, yet I'm always watching him. I wonder if he knows.

Everything changed after that night. And even though it was over a month ago, every time I close my eyes I can still remember it – even down to the tiniest details. I can pause, rewind and hit play at any given moment and I'm right there. Sometimes I watch it all unfold before me – I am the ultimate voyeur. I hide in the shadows, holding my breath as I watch his hand catch my wrist and pull me onto the bed. My throat goes dry as I watch our lips touch, I dig my fingers into my palms to stop myself from moaning as I watch my hand cup his head, deepen the kiss, push him back onto the bed, our lips never parting as I shift to lie next to him.

But other times, I just remember it more simply. I'm the one lying in the bed next to him. I'm the one running my fingers over the nape of his neck, feeling the goosebumps. I'm the one whose hand he clutches tightly, as our chests press together and we our mouths pause for breath. I remember everything – the feathery touches of his fingers on my cheek as he mumbles incoherently, the sweat on his forehead (or was it mine?) as we stared into each other's eyes, gathering our thoughts, wondering what the hell to do next.

What happened next was graduation. A torturous day. Bea clinging to my arm, smothering my cheek with lipstick. Jay and Rich passing a hip flask back and forth during the ceremony. All three so wrapped up in the moment and themselves, they didn't even notice how I was blatantly staring at Randy. And how he was so openly holding my gaze. They didn't even notice that I had disappeared for almost half an hour. Or that when I returned, my face was flushed, my tie askew, my lips bruised. Or the fact that Randy looked exactly the same as me.

A finger brushes against my wrist. I blink and Randy comes back into focus.

"Do you want another?" he asks.

I glance down at the beer in my hand that I've barely touched. I smile guiltily. "I'm alright, thanks."

He nods and then reaches over to get himself another anyway. I watch him raise it to his lips and take a long swig, taking note of how his Adam's apple bobs rhythmically as he swallows. I feel his eyes on me and glance away, feeling my cheeks redden. He chuckles softly.

"Cigarette?" he offers.

"Sure."

I hear him tug the packet from his pocket, remove one, flick the lighter, and then feel that finger on my wrist again. I twist around and take it from him.

"Lie back."

I sink back on the grass, shifting uncomfortably as the blades tickle the back of my neck. He moves closer to me, his arm brushing gently against mine. I raise the cigarette to my lips and take a long drag. Turning my head, I stare at his profile, exhaling slowly. His nose twitches as the smoke drifts over him.

He turns his head slowly to face me. I raise the cigarette to his lips, my fingers grazing over them as he sucks on the tip, the ash crackling and trembling. I can't tear my eyes away, I can't even blink. I just watch his lips tense and relax, the vision going straight to my cock. His lips curl into a smile, the cigarette still hanging between them. His hand sneaks up between us and removes the cigarette, before his teeth nip teasingly as the tips of my fingers that are still pressed against his mouth. I gasp and he grins. My fingers drop from his lips, as he raises the cigarette once again.

This summer is a blur of days like these. Days spent driving for hours away from anywhere we know and then spending the remaining sunlit hours lying on the grass, smoking, drinking, teasing. Sometimes things just stop at teasing. Sometimes they go further.

Randy stubs out the cigarette on a stray rock behind us which is now coloured in dark ashy smudges. He shifts closer, our foreheads almost touching. His mouth tantalisingly close. I can smell a mixture of smoke and beer on his breath. His lips ghost over mine for a second. He pulls back briefly and then comes back for more. His mouth crashes against mine, his tongue fierce in its conquest. He moves closer still, his bare chest pressing against mine and despite the fact I've still got my shirt on, I can still feel the heat and light sheen of sweat on his skin.

I roll slowly onto my back, knocking the long-forgotten bottle of beer over, the liquid slowly seeping under me, soaking my shirt. But I don't care. Randy clambers over me, his hands finding mine as his mouth presses ever harder against mine. One leg slides between mine and I swear I can feel him hard against my thigh.

The first time it happened, I flinched and he pulled away. We stared at each other for ages, unsure of what to do. It wasn't like either of us were familiar with the situation. And even though I had imagined it a thousand times, I never wondered what it would actually be like when it happened. The reality was all too real for both us. We rolled away from each other, lit cigarettes, sat in silence for an hour. Then Randy laughed. And I couldn't help but laugh too. I looked over at him and he shrugged. What the hell, I thought. I leaned over and kissed him, tumbled on top of him. And when I felt him once again, hard against my inner thigh, I groaned. He froze for a second, his mouth tense. But then he pressed against me again. And then he moaned...

He moans now too. The sound echoes around my head, vibrates against my lips as he grinds against my leg. My own cock is aching, trapped between us, the friction from my pants making my head spin. Randy's hands grip mine tightly, moving to pin my wrists instead, as his mouth tears away from mine and sinks to my neck instead.

"Fuck..."

I struggle against him, hooking my leg around his, pushing against his grip until he relents enough for me to turn the tables. I roll on top of him, pinning him down by his forearms, straddling his waist. As I lower my mouth to his, his eyes open and he stares up at me through thick eyelashes. He toys with his bottom lip as I decide to skip his mouth and head straight for his neck. He hisses as I suck firmly on the skin just above his collarbone – I'm not about to break the unwritten rule of leaving marks where they can be seen. Too risky. Even if there is no-one to catch us.

I'm so caught up in the moment that I don't even notice the spots of wetness on my neck. I don't even notice the trickle of water make its way under my shirt collar, or how the back of my shirt is now not only wet from beer but from rain. Randy's neck, lips, general presence is too over-whelming to notice the storm clouds that are rolling overhead. Only at the rumble of thunder are we startled into noticing rain water running freely over my head onto Randy's face.

We scramble to our feet, grabbing the remaining beers, before we duck into the shelter of the forest. Randy leans against a tree, buttoning his shirt up, as I wipe my face. My pants are soaked and stained with mud and grass. As Randy turns away from me, I see that his back is in the same state.

I move closer to him, unsure as always after our close encounters. Things aren't as simple as they are with Bea. With her, I can roll away, fall asleep. Or she rolls into me, wraps my arms around her. I know my place, my role. With Randy? Who knows what is right or wrong, what roles we play in this relationship. We move uneasily around each other before and after. Only when we're caught in the heat of the moment do things make sense. Only then are we truly equal with each other.

"Maybe we should head back," Randy says, staring at the rain that doesn't seem to be easing.

"I guess." My heart sinks.

"How many did you have?" He nods at the beers.

I shrug. "Three or four?"

"You okay to drive?" He gives me a questioning stare.

"Maybe we should give it an hour or so..." I say slowly.

His lips twitch into a small smile. My heart leaps.

We make a break for it and run for the truck, fumble with keys and then pant with relief as we clamber into the dry cab. We sit for a few minutes in silence, watching the windows slowly start to steam up.

Randy leans over and kisses the side of my neck, his hand sliding down my chest, his fingers tugging up the hem of my shirt. I hiss as his cool fingers touch my bare stomach and then my head almost explodes as they sink lower beneath the waistband of my pants.

His fingers slide out and start to undo my pants, eager to gain more access. I feel light-headed, my breathing ragged as his mouth presses against my neck and his fingers bury themselves under the waistband of my boxer shorts.

With his free hand, he seeks out mine and pulls it to his lap. Beneath the thick denim, I can feel him pulsing, hear his breathing change as I rub my palm firmly against his crotch. But I freeze as I feel his fingers sink lower, brush over my cock from the base to the tip. I shift in my seat, spreading my legs, allowing him to slide his whole hand into my pants. It curls around my whole length, slowly moving up and down, tugging me gently.

"Shit..." I hear myself groan. His mouth moves from my neck, covering my lips in a second, his tongue pushing inside firmly. My hand is still cupping his crotch and he slowly grinds against it, encouraging me to do more. To copy his move.

I reach out with my other hand and fumble with his belt, pushing his pants down as far as our positioning will allow. I cup him through his boxer shorts, feeling him properly for the first time. His confidence makes me nervous. The way he seems to know exactly what feels good for me. Or...

I follow his moves with precision. My fingers sneak under the material, edge along his length. He hisses into my mouth. I wrap my hand around him and tug him slowly, setting the same rhythm as him. His hand moves a little faster, making me groan. I follow his lead.

Every time he increases speed and pressure, every time he brushes his thumb over my tip, I do the same to him. Each time he's rewarded with a throaty groan and each time I'm rewarded with a nip to my bottom lip.

I can feel the familiar feeling in my stomach – that swirling tension that moves slowly south, ready for release. His unsteady breathing, the way his mouth starts to slide from mine as he tries to focus, tells me he's almost there too.

I pull away from his mouth. "I'm... I'm close..." I hear myself gasp.

"Me too..." he moans, before diving back to claim my mouth, his hand gripping me harder.

Neither of us last much longer. We explode in streams of white stickiness that cling to our hands, pants, bare skin.

I lean back against the headrest, breathing heavily. Randy's head slumps against my shoulder. Silence envelopes us, but for the first time, and to my surprise, I don't feel the usual awkwardness. And instead of wanting to push him away like I would with Bea... I almost wish I could be closer.


	11. Chapter 11

Nothing to say apart from I hope you all enjoy ;-) x

**WARNING: **Slash. Lots of.

**DISCLAIMER: **Mr Orton is not mine.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

I swing the truck into the usual spot and cut the engine. It's late afternoon and the sun is only just starting to sink. Our daily meet up has been disrupted by a family occasion that Randy couldn't get out of. He apologised over and over again in between kisses, bites, licks, gropes the previous day. He promised me that he would escape later in the day, that he would meet me, promise.

A promise that I'm scared he won't be able to keep.

My summer is slowly coming to an end. A rather abrupt end.

Bea is back tomorrow.

The past few weeks will have to be pushed to the back of my mind – the hot, frantic kisses on the grass, up against trees, in the darkness of my truck will have to be temporarily forgotten. The warm hands on cool skin, the wet tongues on hot flesh will have to be pushed aside. Everything will have to become a distant memory. Memories that I can only reflect on in private. The mask will have be pulled down over my face once more.

Yet everything will be twice as hard. I know what I can have. I know what I want. And it's definitely not Bea. Any feeling of remorse, guilt is long gone. But I can't bring myself to stop the lies. Every time my mind has wandered into the future, to this particular moment, it never concludes that what I should do is leave her. No, it answers, lies are good. An intricate web of lies that can't be picked apart. But... There are no lies. Only one. And there's nothing intricate or complex about one lie.

It's plain and simple.

Easy to discover if you dig deep enough.

My only hope is that Bea doesn't dig. That she continues to accept me at face-value. That she continues to live in her own deluded world where I am the perfect boyfriend and she is the perfect girlfriend. We'll continue on our way – college, marriage, kids.

If it's down to me, the truth will never come out.

But now... Now there is another.

Randy.

Despite his confidence – the way he is so sure of himself as he rolls on top of me, bites my neck, my chest, kisses my stomach, teases with his fingers, palm, fist – I'm not so sure that confidence is there behind his eyes. Something stirs in them that tells me I'm right. That I need to watch his step as well as mine. No matter how amazing our time together is, no matter how much I try to keep that in mind when I crawl into bed late at night, my thoughts always drift to what would happen if we're caught.

I shake my head. Don't think about it now. What's the point? It won't happen.

It can't happen.

Thank god we don't have school to deal with. This can easily be kept separate. No need for our paths to cross when we're with others. Or rather when I'm with others. Bea. Rich. Jay. I feel cold just thinking about what the hell would happen. Things were getting risky before they all disappeared for the summer. In hindsight, Randy's beating seemed a little too coincidental...

No, we have to more careful. Everything has to be kept separate.

The consequences for our... my actions don't even bear thinking about.

Stop. Think of something else.

I glance over at the passenger seat, where I'm so used to seeing Randy sitting. It feels strangely empty without him beside me. The way he sits, the seat pushed as far back as possible, his legs stretched out as far as they can go. His long arms always look out of place, like he doesn't even know what to do with them. He fidgets constantly – one minute his elbow is against the window, his fingers ghosting over his own lips and the next, he's twisting his hands together uncomfortably in his lap as he chews his lip before he glances over at me, sees me smile and smiles back.

What we've done in this truck will always be with me. It smells of him. And me. It reeks of us. That seat used to stink of Bea's perfume. Now? Now it smells of sweet sweat, hint of hastily sprayed after-shave. It smells of temptation, depravity.

Movement in the rear-view mirror makes me jump, but as I focus on the figure approaching, warmth spreads through me. Randy, head down, hands stuffed in his pockets, scuffs his way towards the truck. As he draws level with the passenger door, I can finally see his face. His brow is furrowed, his jaw tight. He catches my eye and I offer a small smile, but he doesn't respond.

"What's up?" I ask tentatively, as he climbs in.

"Nothing." He slumps back, arms folded.

"I couldn't get any beer."

He tugs a bottle of vodka out from his pocket. I notice that it's only half full. I wonder if it was like that when he stole it from his parents liquor stash or if he'd been swigging from it as he walked to meet me.

"Want some?" he offers.

"I guess." I take it from him, my fingers sliding over his.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye as I take a large gulp.

"You okay, man?" I pass the bottle back to him.

He shrugs.

"I told my mom I was staying out tonight..." I venture.

"Me too."

I relax a little. "So... what do you want to do?"

His mouth opens and closes, but he remains silent.

"We... we could go into the woods... Or we could go for a drive... Or we could just stay here..."

"Whatever."

Silence falls again. I watch a nerve flicker in his temple, notice how his jaw tenses and then relaxes as if he's about to say something. But he doesn't.

I wonder if he's thinking about tomorrow. About what's going to happen. If we'll ever have another chance to see each other alone. To sit like this, share moments like we have in the past few weeks. All this a complete waste of time. Why did we do it? It's not like it could last.

"It'll be okay."

His eyes turn on me. They're narrow, but I can see the questions forming in his mind.

"We... we can still see each other," I whisper.

"When?"

I don't have an answer.

"When it suits her." He answers his own question. "When she drops you, you can pick up with me. Fine. I get it."

"No, it won't be like that."

"Really?"

I shift in my seat, moving closer to him. His arms remain locked in front of him as I slide my hand over his thigh.

"Yes."

I press my lips against his neck. Once. Twice.

"Let's stay here," he murmurs, his arms sliding undone, one hand moving over to grip my thigh, pulling me closer.

I practically sink into his kiss. I can taste vodka on his tongue, smell cigarettes on his skin. I cling to him, taking mental, emotional snapshots of everything. How his fingers rub firm circles into my thigh, how his breath hitches as I move my hand down to his crotch. How he moans when I move it up again, tug at his shirt, slip my hand under and trail my fingers across his stomach.

He pulls back for a second, his eyes searching mine. I wonder what he sees in them.

He worries his lower lip between his teeth as he leans back away from me.

"What's wrong?" My voice is low, breathless.

"Nothing," he says slowly. His hand slips from my thigh and for a split second, I wonder if I'd made a mistake, moved too fast.

But his hand slides down to recline the seat back. He catches my eye, holds my gaze as he lies back.

I move slowly, desperate not to fuck this up. I might never get this ever again. The next person to do what he's doing now might be Bea. I push that thought to the back of my mind as I hover over him, unsure what to do next. Unsure of what this might lead to.

Randy reaches up and pulls me down. Our mouths crash together, as a hand sneaks between us, ghosts over the tightness in my pants. I can hear a zipper being undone – but it's not mine. Randy groans beneath me as he grips his own cock.

"Let me," I mumble against his lips. I can almost feel him smile as my hand sinks down to join his, replace his. I run my thumb over the tip slowly, enjoying how he squirms under me. I've never understood the pleasure in giving before. Before Randy that is. But as I wrap my hand around him, feel his moan vibrate against my lips and sense my own cock hardening, I completely understand. I start slow, pausing every so often just to hear him curse into my mouth.

His cock starts to leak and my thumb gathers the wetness, slicks up his flesh. With my free hand, I push his shirt up, pull my mouth away from his and lower it to his now exposed chest. He flinches and hisses as my teeth nip just below his nipple. I stay there for a while, enjoying how I can make him squirm, writhe almost. Wondering what else I can do.

As I sink lower, Randy's hands suddenly grip my shoulders. I look up. He stares at me wide-eyed.

"What... what are you..." he chokes.

I shrug as best I can under his hold and lower my mouth back down, place an open kiss to just above his belly button. He gasps, his fingers digging into my skin. I try to shift down further, but my feet hit the glove pocket.

"Move up," I whisper, pressing another kiss to his stomach.

"No," he murmurs. "We... we shouldn't do this."

I stare up at him disbelieving.

"Why not?"

He doesn't have to answer. I didn't even have to ask. I know why.

"Don't think about it." I move back up his body, grasping his chin firmly, pressing my forehead against his and staring him straight in the eye. "Don't. Think."

I want him. I need him.

I search his eyes looking for confirmation that he wants, needs this too. His eyes are unreadable and I'm left in the dark. My newfound confidence is slowly waning. I feel like an idiot. Who was I kidding?

My hand drops from his chin and I pull back, my eyes lowered. I can feel my cheeks reddening.

I watch as Randy reaches above him, grips the headrest and slowly pulls himself up. His hips slide under mine, but his jeans stay where they are. He props himself up on his arms, the edges of lips twitching. I chance a look down, swallow hard as I see his erect cock before me.

"Don't think," Randy breathes, pulling at my hand, placing it back around the hard flesh.

I can't help myself. My lips bend into a grin and he laughs. I lean forward, capture his lips once again. Relief floods through me as he kisses me back, one hand on the back of my neck, gripping hard as I start to jerk him off once more. His other hand rests on my shoulder and slowly pushes me down his body.

I take my time. Slow. I don't want this to end. I want it to last forever. I bite, suck at his neck. His fingers thread through my hair. I sink lower, retracing my footsteps. I pause at his stomach. Resting my chin on the taut flesh, I look up at him. He gazes back at me through half-lidded eyes. His head is almost touching the grey felt that lines the roof of the truck. One hand is clenched around the seatbelt holder – he grips it tightly and I can see the tendons in his wrist flexing steadily. I watch his chest rise and fall rapidly, watch his tongue slip out and wet his lips in... Anticipation? Nervousness?

Now I feel nervous. I can feel his cock pressing into my chest. I close my eyes and blow cool air over his hot skin, feel him shiver. I grip his thighs hard to stop my hands from shaking as I scoot back, my eyes now level with his crotch.

I place a cautious kiss to his hip. He groans above me and my confidence slowly starts to build. Another kiss. Another groan. My hand, which only trembles slightly, grips his cock, tugs him a few times. Another kiss, this time to his thigh. I inhale deeply, breathing in his scent, his musk.

I've never been this intimate with anyone before. I refused point blank – I felt sick at the thought, didn't see the point. But now? Sure, I'm petrified and I have no fucking idea what I'm doing, completely unsure of what I'm supposed to even do. But I'm also horny as fuck.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath and try a tentative lick.

"Fuck..."

Randy's hand grips the back of my head firmly.

"Do... do that again."

My tongue obliges. A swift lick to the leaking head. His hips rise up briefly.

"Again."

This time I let the head enter my mouth. He hisses, curses the thick air, his fingers pulling at my hair. I slowly lower my mouth over him, trailing my tongue over the head, tasting the saltiness – savouring the flavour. I trail my finger over the base, up the thick vein that pulses on the underside. I pull my mouth away and his hips buck in protest.

"Don't stop," he whispers throatily.

I run my tongue over the vein and then over the tip, smirking as he moans wantonly. I kiss the tip and don't even resist as he forces his way into my mouth. I breathe him in, as I try to take more and more of him in, desperately fighting the urge to gag. I splutter and cough as I frantically push his hand off my head and pull back.

"Fuck... Sorry."

I shake my head. "S'okay."

I try again. And again. Each time, I manage a little more. Each time, I feel a sense of pride rip through me as he moans appreciatively. His hips buck incessantly as the tip hits the back of my throat. I pause, breathing fast through my nose, gripping his thighs tightly. My eyes are watering, but I refuse to give up. I slide my mouth up and down over him, swirling my tongue over and around him, listening to him come undone, barely believing that I'm doing this.

"I'm..." he cries out, his fingers twisting my hair so tightly I swear his about to rip it out. "Fuck..."

My mind only half-registers what he's saying. All I can feel is him tensing underneath me, shaking, trembling. His hips buck one final time... And then his warm release hits the back of my throat. I freeze for a second, my mind slowly catching up. He whispers my name, says sorry, asks if I'm okay. Something in his words kicks me back into life and I swallow. I lick. Suck. Drain him of everything he has.

I pull back, catch his eye as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. He stares back at me with wide-eyes, his own mouth half-open. I take the opportunity and lean forward to kiss him. His tongue runs slowly over my lips and I wonder if he can taste himself.

His hands run down my sides and start to fumble with my pants. His hands slip inside and now it's my turn to moan as he encircles my cock. With his other hand, he pushes my pants further down my legs. His mouth breaks away from mine and he starts to attack my neck.

"Roll over."

I shake my head. "No... Like this. Please."

He freezes. "Are... are you sure?"

I nod.

"I want this. I need... I need you in me," I whisper.

He doesn't move. His hand is still around my cock.

"Please," I beg. Beg? I've never begged. I rock my hips, moving myself in and out of his fist. "Please."

I reach down and find his free hand, pull it to my mouth. His mouth is still pressed against my neck, unmoving as I take two of his fingers and start to suck on them.

"Are you sure?" he murmurs again.

"Yes."

I swirl my tongue over his fingers and I can feel his cock hardening once more against my leg. I also feel his mouth press a little harder against my neck and his hand grip my own cock a little tighter. I let go of his fingers slowly.

He looks up at me. I nod encouragingly, but inside I'm tense, nervous again. I feel his hand creep down my back, knead at my ass. His lips part, press a hot kisses to my neck, up to my mouth. His hand slides over my cock harder, faster. His fingers graze my crack, slowly edge further down towards their goal.

He kisses me harder, his hand picking up speed as he jerks me into distraction. His fingers brush against my hole and I hiss into his mouth. I can feel one, pushing slowly. I pull away from his mouth as he breaches me and cry out.

"Fuck!"

He stops, the tip of his finger inside me. I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing hard. He pushes in a little further. Searing pain shoots through me and I bite my lip as he continues to edge his way inside me. He pulls out a little. And then pushes back in. I hiss, but this time, the pain is a little less and a ripple of pleasure rips through me. He wiggles his finger a little and I hiss.

His hand leaves my cock, comes up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me back to his mouth as his finger starts to move steadily in and out of me. Slowly, the pain disappears, the pleasure becomes more intense. And I moan.

He dares to add a second. But the pain is only brief, short-lived as he stretches me out.

"Enough," I groan.

His fingers slowly slide out of me. I feel them slip beneath us as he grasps his cock and rubs it against my entrance. My head drops forward and I breath heavily against his shoulder as he pushes the tip in.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs.

I shake my head. He pushes on slowly. It stings. It burns. It burns like fucking hell. But I can't tell him to stop. Not now. Not ever.

"It's so tight... So dry..." he whispers hoarsely. I can feel him shaking beneath me, desperately trying to keep still as he pauses, half in, half out. But he's twitching inside of me, the one part of him he can't control anymore. Not now. Not ever.

"Keep going," I hiss.

He does. Slower than before. Until what feels like an age of pain later, he's fully sheathed. We lie there, not daring to move. He twitches. A glimmer of pleasure courses through me. I pull myself up as far as I can go, my head brushing against the roof of the truck.

I rock once. His eyes flutter shut and he grips my hips, forcing me to move again. With my hands pressed against the roof for balance, I slowly start to move up and down on him. A volley of curses leave both our lips as we grip each other, slowly pushing the other into oblivion. He slips in and out of me more easily, stretching me further, as pure blissful pleasure crashes over me, over us.

I drop one hand to my cock and start to pull at it roughly. His hips buck suddenly and I let out a scream.

He freezes. I frantically rock on him, urging him to carry on. To do whatever he just did again. He does. And I feel like I'm about to pass out.

"Again. Please. Again."

He grips my hips harder, thrusts into me roughly, giving me everything I've ever wanted.

I feel electric.

I feel fucking alive.

Randy cries out my name as he thrusts into me one last time.

The sound echoes through my mind as streams of white ribbons coat his stomach.


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry for keeping you waiting for this. I haven't had to stop to think, let alone write. I also apologise if this chapter is utter rubbish - I just needed to get something out to kick start my writing & reading of fanfic once again.

**WARNING:** Slash

**DISCLAIMER:** Randy Orton is not mine - only in my dreams.

Hope you like. Oh and if you've got any spare inspiration lying around, send it my way. I'll give it a good home. Promise.

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><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

One day, I will look back at this time and shake my head at how reckless I could be. I will wonder how on earth I got away with it. I will be shocked and amazed at how arrogant and self-absorbed I was. But right now – I don't feel any of those things. I feel on top of the fucking world.

A warm body stirs next to me. I glance over and watch the back muscles ripple ever so slightly as Randy stretches. He rolls onto his side, his eyes flickering open. His neck is red from my mouth and there are tell-tale white flecks over his stomach. I'm not sure if that was me or him. Or both. The precious sneaky hours we spend together are a blur. I only remember the details later when I discover hickeys on my stomach, the deep finger prints imbedded in my flesh and an aching cock.

Yet the feeling of ecstasy is fleeting. I barely get time to gather my thoughts, hide the giveaway signs and pretend that all I want in the world is _her_. I switch off the lights, whisper sweet nothings in her ear, let her suck me off, then bury myself in her, all the while thinking how much wetter Randy's mouth is and how I'd rather be balls deep in him rather than her.

I take it back – I _know_ I'm arrogant. I _know_ that I'm reckless. And I'm definitely amazed at how I've got away with it. So far anyway. Trust me, I know the risks I'm taking. I know that one day I could fuck up big time. One day, I'm not going to get a chance to shower, to sneak into my mom's room and rub vast quantities of concealer over the hickeys. It's my reoccurring nightmare of the moment.

But isn't fear the point of all of this? The thrill, the possibility that we might get caught? The quick fucks, ears pricked, waiting for the creak of stairs, the jangle of keys at the door, the hands over each other's mouths, the hasty clean up and the quick exit. Brief moments stolen when _she_ isn't looking. The brazen actions – fucking Randy an hour before meeting her. Being still able to smell him on my skin, as I slide my arm around her. Still being able to taste him on my tongue as I lean over to kiss her.

I can feel Randy's mouth pressing firmly against my skin, making its way slowly up to my neck, my already-bruised lips. It takes all my strength to pull my body away from his touch. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. I chance a glance over my shoulder at him and his crumpled face makes me wish I could stay and revel in how he makes me feel.

"Don't go."

I reach down and pluck my boxers out of the pile of his clothes and mine. I don't reply – I know better than that.

"Please."

I pick up my jeans, quickly fastening them before searching for my shirt.

"Don't go back to her."

I freeze. It's the first time she's ever been referred to since we first slept together. A silent, yet mutual agreement to keep outsiders from our conversation. And this was the reason why. Any mention of someone else, whether it's her, or anyone else for that matter, makes things more awkward than they already are.

"Don't," I say.

"Why not?"

"It's not fair."

He laughs. "Fair? Like any of this is fair."

"You know I have to go."

Randy sits up in bed and leans over towards me, hand out-stretched, fingers close, so incredibly close to curling around my wrist and pulling me back into temptation.

"Stay," he murmurs.

"No." I move out of reach, spying my shirt on the floor near the door.

"Please. Don't go back to her."

"I can't do that," I mutter as I tug the shirt over my head.

"Why not?"

I chew my lip, trying to think of an answer, a lie, anything to cut through the ever thickening silence.

"Why not?" he asks again. The floorboards creak as he makes his way towards me.

But he doesn't even get close. I open the door and dart down the stairs and out of the house, the question echoing in my mind. And even when I get back to my house, my own room, as I climb into the shower and wash away his scent, I still can't think of an answer.

* * *

><p>Bea pushes up against me as I lean over the bar to order. Her hand is caressing my waist, dropping lower to graze the waistband of my pants every so often. Occasionally her fingers slip under my shirt, dig into the same skin that Randy was marking only a few hours ago. She stretches up to my ear and says something I can't make out. Her tongue slips out and runs over the sensitive skin. I shiver despite of myself.<p>

Her hand slips into mine as we push our way through to the booths at the back of the room, where Bea shoots daggers at one of the occupants who hastily vacate. She smiles, relishing the power-trip as she slides onto the old leather and draws me in towards her. I only manage one sip of beer before her mouth is clinging to mine.

And now, in the semi-darkness, her hands don't hold back. I can feel them tugging desperately at my shirt, her nails scraping across my stomach and then her coldness of her fingers as they finally quit teasing and slip inside my pants. I can feel her lips twitching into a smile as I groan.

If only she knew that behind my closed eyes, I'm somewhere else. And it's not her fingers, not even his fingers, that I'm imagining. With my mind running wild, I'm struggling to control myself. Bea's mouth presses fiercely against mine, her grip on my cock tightening. I shift uncomfortably, my pants pulled tight over my ever-hardening cock and her hand.

I wrench my mouth away from hers and she stares up at me in disbelief. And then a smile spreads across her lips. Her pulls her hand free and I almost sigh in relief. But not for long – fingers pluck at the zipper, the button and a wave of horror washes over me.

She leans towards me and this time I hear her words loud and clear.

"Don't worry baby, I won't spill any..."

I grab her by the shoulders.

"Don't be stupid."

She stares at me blankly for a second. Then the smile fades and an ugly scowl replaces it.

I could kick myself. I raise a hand and push a strand of hair back from her face, making sure I graze her cheek with my thumb in what I hope is a tender touch. She softens slightly, but the scowl is still present.

"Later," I murmur. "Just... not here."

"You've never refused before."

"Not here," I say firmly. I can't run the risk. The risk that Randy might walk in and see me come undone by the ministrations of someone other than him.

She flops back defeated against the leather seat and grabs her drink. The silent treatment sets in.

"I'll be back in a second," I murmur. She doesn't even give me a second glance. I slide out of the booth and head towards the restroom.

Only one out of the three strip lights is working and it's obvious from it's constant flickering, it won't be long before it cuts out and the entire room will be plunged into darkness. I bang open one of the cubicle doors and slam it hard behind me.

I'm still thinking of an answer to Randy's question. All he wants is a simple yes or no, but simple doesn't work for me. I do complicated like no-one else. If my life was simple, I wouldn't be in this fucking situation. Simple would mean that I would still be in that booth having my dick sucked. Simple would mean that I would have never even spoken to Randy, let alone kiss him, fuck him.

I hear the door creak open, the sound of music and general bar noise filling the empty air. For a moment, I think it's Bea, determined to have it her way as always. But the footsteps are slow, almost cautious, as they approach the cubicles. Whoever it is, is definitely looking for someone. Maybe it is Bea after all. The first and second cubicle doors are pushed opened and then, after what feels like an age, there's a tap at mine.

Randy pushes open the door and quickly steps inside.

"What – " I start, but his mouth crashes against mine before I can even think the words, let alone say them.

My mind screams at me to stop. I'm playing with fire and I'm dangerously close to getting burnt. The possibility of getting caught could soon be a reality. Anyone – Bea, Jay, Rich or a complete stranger – could walk in, hear, even see us. And then what?

But it's another question which I can't answer. A question that my body chooses to ignore as Randy's hand grasps my hip and grinds firmly against me. I pull away from his mouth for a brief second and stare at him – his eyes are half-lidded, his lips swollen, his cheeks flushed. He comes back for more. One long, lingering kiss, before his mouth sinks to my neck. I tug him back up to eye-level before he can do any damage.

"Careful," I murmur.

He doesn't react. He just attacks my lips once again. My hands slip between us and I frantically un-do his pants and tug him free. He groans into my mouth as I start to jerk him off.

"I haven't got long," I mumble against his lips. "Turn around."

With a face full of regret and frustration, he does as I ask. I unzip my pants and spit in my hand a few times. As he leans against the wall, he looks over his shoulder at me. Maybe that was the moment we should have stopped. But it was too late for that.

I push into him, groaning at the sensation. I can barely count how many times we've fucked on two hands, but this initial feeling, his heat surrounding me, never gets old. He grips me firmly, his breath hot against my temple as my head drops forward onto his shoulder. I raise my hands from his waist to his hands that rest against the cubicle wall.

His fingers entwine with mine, as I pound deeper and harder into him. His tongue trails over the side of my face, down to my mouth which he attacks fiercely, his frustration breaking free as he bites down on my bottom lip, making me yelp.

One hand slides from above his head, taking mine with it. The damp of the wall rubs against the back of my hand as he positions it over his crotch, willing me to bring him off. With a bite to the back of his neck, I oblige – it's the least I can do right now. To forget about what and who is waiting for me out there and just to focus on what is happening right this second. I run my thumb over the tip and then thrust into him, forcing him to fuck my hand.

His head rocks back onto my shoulder, his pants becoming louder, his mouth forming half-words that only half-register with my lust-infused mind. Sounds are dangerous, but I only realise when it's too late. He cries out my name before I can muffle him with my mouth or hand.

But I can't bring myself to stop. I can't even bring myself to tell him to shut up. I ram into him over and over again, feel his cock explode in my hand and almost scream as I coat his insides.

I lean against the cubicle partition, catching my breath. He barely meets my eye as he tucks his cock back into his pants.

"You should go," he murmurs.

I nod slowly.

"You okay?"

He shoots me a look. "Never fucking better."

All I want to do is to leave with him. Fuck Bea, fuck everyone else. I want to be normal – I want this to be normal. I want to do normal things. With him.

I open my mouth, a word, the word, on the tip of my tongue. But I freeze and I can't say it.

"Go."

I brush past him, unsure if I'm doing the right thing, leaving him here. I glance in the dirty mirror above the rusty sinks. He looks straight at me.

I turn and almost run, crashing into him, my mouth showing him what I can't say. That I'm sorry beyond belief for everything – the sneaking around, the rough fucks, my inability to quit being a coward and admit what I am, what _we_ are.

* * *

><p>I slide back into the booth alongside Bea. She shoots me a look that tells me that I'm still in her bad books. But I lean over anyway and press a kiss to her pouting lips. She sighs and lets me slide my tongue into her mouth. But it's not an apology I'm offering her. And I'm not begging for her forgiveness.<p>

Over the music, I swear I can hear the restroom door opening and Randy making his silent exit.


	13. Chapter 13

I was hoping to post this yesterday but a mixture of bad Internet connection and being unable to login to the site meant that I went to bed completely frustrated after spending the entire afternoon writing this! Anyway, here it is :-)

There's only 2 more chapters left after this, so we're nearing the end...! Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this - I hope the final chapters live up to your expectations.

**WARNING:** Slash, scenes of a sexual nature ;-)

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Randy Orton

Hope you likey x

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><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

"Mom?" I call out as I open the front door. No answer. I call again. Nothing. A third time just for luck. All I can hear is the sound of my own breathing. I turn and motion to Randy to follow me inside.

His place is out of bounds for the evening – his parents are holding some sort of party. Sure, we could probably make in and out un-noticed, but the risk is greater. And I'm not up for taking that chances. Not after our restroom antics last week. We need to play it safe. Or at least, safer than usual.

Not that my suggestion of going to _my_ house, _my_ room, is any safer. But it's preferable to driving for an hour out of town and fucking in the car. And anyway, we've become accustomed to home comforts.

Randy closes the door behind me. I don't dare turn the lights on – as confident as I am that we won't be interrupted, there's no need to draw attention to the house. The stairs creak as we climb them, Randy hands ghosting over my arms, his hot breath tickling the back of my neck. My hand slides over his wrist and I tug him along the hallway towards my room.

His mouth attacks mine hungrily as we stumble across the room to the bed. He pushes me forward and I fall happily onto the mattress. Crawling over me, he tugs my arms above my head, groaning as I arch my back and grind my crotch feverishly against his.

"I want to fuck you," he states roughly, his mouth dropping to my neck. I shiver. Ever since our first time, it's been _me_ slamming into _him, _more often than not. The rare chance to be on the receiving end makes me feel light-headed.

He moves lower, pushing my shirt up, biting my stomach as he un-zips my pants.

"Holy shit," I gasp, as his mouth closes around my length.

Life couldn't be more perfect.

His fingers dig into my thighs as I buck my hips. His tongue laps the underside of my cock and then he slowly, ever so slowly, releases me with a pop. I watch him in a blur as he swirls his tongue over the head and then takes me once more into his mouth. My moans, groans, pants echo around the room, interspersed by a faint knocking.

Knocking?

"Shit!" I push Randy away.

Despite the darkness, I can see confusion spread over Randy's face.

"Wh– " he starts, but I frantically cover his mouth with my hand.

"Sssh," I whisper.

Another knock.

"They'll go away," Randy mumbles through my fingers.

I shake my head. A cold sweat slides over me, accompanied with a sense of dread and fear.

The knocking gets louder, more incessant.

And then a voice.

I push Randy away and scramble to my feet, pulling my pants back up and my shirt back down. "It's fucking Bea!"

Randy doesn't move.

"Didn't you hear me? It's Bea! You gotta get out of here!"

"How?" he murmurs.

"I don't know! Just get out of here!"

I hurry out of the room and crash down the stairs, switching the hall light on in the process. I pause for a brief moment, breathing heavily, praying to any God who'll take me that both me and Randy make it out of this alive. I arrange what I hope is the perfect surprised-yet-thrilled-to-see-you smile on my face and open the door.

"Hey baby."

Bea looks me up and down suspiciously.

"Why are all the lights off?"

"My mom turned them off before she went out."

"But your light wasn't on either."

"I was asleep."

"It's only nine."

I yawn widely. "I was just tired."

"Well, maybe I can wake you up," she smirks, moving forward and pressing herself against me. Her mouth clings to mine longer than necessary.

She pushes me towards the stairs, but I manage to re-direct us towards the lounge and more importantly, the couch. We crash onto it and Bea sighs beneath me. I kiss her, murmur sweet nothings in her ear, run my hands down her sides and pull her leg up around my waist so she can feel how hard I am. But all the while, I'm straining to hear past her moans and whisperings, trying to hear if Randy is making his exit.

Bea's hand gropes me through my pants and I groan loudly.

"Let me..." she breathes heavily, pushing me up. I lean backwards as she crawls over me just like Randy did moments before. Up goes the shirt and down go the pants. Curses and moans of appreciation spill from my mouth as her lips suck the head and her hand squeezes the base of my cock. My head drops back and I close my eyes, forgetting for a second that Randy might still be in the house.

Somewhere beyond the sound of slicked up flesh, my hisses and Bea breathing heavily through her nose, I hear the front door creak.

My eyes flicker open and I turn my head to see Randy staring straight at me. For the first time in a long time, I can't read his expression. And the familiar feeling on uneasiness sweeps over me.

But then Bea moans around my length and I close my eyes again.

When I open them, Randy is gone and Bea is wiping her mouth, a satisfied look in her eye.

* * *

><p>Bea twirls the spoon in her hand as she decides what part of the ice-cream tub to attack next. She's curled up against me, wearing my shirt and nothing else. Our clothes are strewn over my bedroom floor, where Bea flung them earlier in her impatience to clamber on top of me and give me 'the ride of my fucking life' as she put it. It didn't come close.<p>

"Y'know after college..."

"Yeah," I reply, suddenly uneasy about where this is going.

"Will you ask me to marry you?"

"I... Well... I..."

She lowers her eyes, her bottom lip trembling.

"What I mean is..." Fuck. "I... Well, I wasn't planning on... on proposing the minute we finish college," I stammer.

A smile cracks her face in two. "So you've thought about it?"

"Of course..."

"I was thinking," she says through a mouthful of ice-cream. "We should move in together. Maybe in our second year – what do you think?"

"I thought you wanted to join a sorority?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe. But if I don't, we can live together. Oh my god, it would be so fun! Don't you think?"

"Sure..."

She practically bounces in excitement next to me. My lack of enthusiasm barely seems to register in her idyllic fantasy. I listen as she reels off ideas about how she would decorate our hypothetical apartment, how we would spend every waking hour together and how after college, we'll get married, buy a house, have a kid, not just one, a whole fucking bunch of kids in fact.

My whole life is mapped out before me and I can't see any exit sign, an escape route, a way out. There's no plan B. No room for error. No room for anyone else except me and Bea. No-one else.

"I've even got the names. I've known what I'd call my children since I was 12," Bea chirps cheerfully.

"Yeah?" I manage to get out, my mind still trying to process how the next 50 years have just been decided for me by a girlfriend who doesn't even know my deepest, darkest secrets and desires.

"Of course. There is no way I'll let you name them. You'd name them after some fucking football player or a video game character," she laughs.

I nod and smile automatically.

"You do want this too, right?" she whispers.

"Of course I do."

"Are you sure?" Her voice is calm, but when I glance down at her and meet her eye, her gaze is anything but calm.

"What do you mean?" I say slowly.

"I mean, you would tell me if anything was wrong, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would. Why d'you ask?"

"You just don't seem exactly excited by the prospect of spending the rest of your life with me." She slumps back against the pillows.

"I am."

I'm not.

"Prove it."

Fuck.

"Go on," she hisses. "Prove. It."

She slides down the bed beside me, the shirt riding up, exposing herself to me, as she slowly spreads her legs.

I swallow hard. I pull the ice-cream tub from her grasp. I kiss her cold lips as I move on top of her, my hand sliding down her body, over her still-covered breasts, skimming her stomach and then... I close my eyes and try not to shudder as I push a finger inside of her.

Her fingers claw the back of my head as she pushes me away from her mouth and down her body. Her legs slide over my back and I try not to gag as I lean forward and taste her for the first time.

* * *

><p>"She knows something is up."<p>

Randy doesn't say anything. He stares straight ahead of him. Not an inkling of emotion on his face.

"She kept talking about all this shit we're going to do in college and beyond. She told me the colours she'll paint the fucking bathroom for Christ's sake. The name of the church we'll get married in. The names of our non-existent kids! What the fuck am I going to do?"

"What did you do?" His voice is monotone.

"I told her to quit with the happy family fantasy because I like to fuck guys – what do you think I told her? That I wanted all that crap too. What else could I do?"

I leave out the part where I was forced to prove my commitment by eating Bea out not once, but twice. Or how I then spent the rest of the weekend, brushing my teeth every hour to try and rid myself of the taste. The taste that still clings to my tongue, to the back of my throat.

He shrugs.

"I don't know what to do," I murmur.

Silence.

"What am I going to do?" I ask.

"Tell her the truth?"

I stare at him disbelieving. "The truth? Because that'll solve everything won't it? Because I'm so fucking good with telling the truth."

"Well what do you want me to suggest?" Randy scowls. "Another lie? Don't you think you've done enough of that? Maybe you should think about someone else instead of yourself for a change."

"What do you mean?"

He laughs bitterly. "Are you serious? All you're concerned about is how this will affect you. You don't even give a shit if she gets hurt. Or me for that matter. It's all about how you look. You've got to keep face right? You have your big fucking reputation don't you? I mean, you don't give a shit about how much you hurt Bea. Sure, she might be a bitch, but surely she doesn't deserve to be lied to like this? And what about me? Do you think I like this? That I get some sort of kick out of it? Do you think I enjoy seeing you and Bea together? That watching her suck you off was the highlight of my fucking life?"

His words hit hard. Truth hurts and all that.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"It works better if you actually mean it."

"I do. I am."

"Whatever."

I chew my lip.

"I will tell her y'know. Just..."

"Just not now. I got that."

I glance over at him. He continues to stare straight ahead, his jaw hard, his eyes cold.

"I know I'm selfish."

He finally turns and looks at me. "At least you can admit that."

"It's a start right?"

"I guess."

Silence fills the car.

"I'm scared," I murmur.

The cold, hard truth.

"Me too." He pauses and sighs.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, desperately trying to think of something, anything to make this better. To make it all go away and to go back to being like it was before Bea decided to orchestrate the rest of my life.

"Maybe she doesn't know. Maybe she's just scared because it's college. And people change at college."

"Maybe."

It's another lie. But who's keeping count? Not me. I've got too many lies to keep up with. Lies that on the edge of a fucking precipice just waiting to be pushed that little bit further, until they tumble and fall.


	14. Chapter 14

So here we go, the penultimate chapter. Now, the ending of this chapter may _seem_ to close this story, **but it does not.** A lot of things will go unsaid, which is why I will be writing an epilogue, which will hopefully wrap everything up nicely for you all. It's not yet written, but I hope that I will have it done by the end of the weekend, so I won't keep you waiting too long, promise! It may be the longest epilogue in the world - possibly a story within it's own right lol.

**WARNING:** Not so much slash, I'm afraid. Just a lot of... Oh c'mon, I can't give you the warning - what happened to the element of surprise?

**DISCLAIMER:** Unfortunately, I can only claim the rights to my nameless (for the moment...) narrator and his disgusting and deeply disturbing acquaintances. Randy Orton remains his own man and part of WWE.

Enjoy. I hope. x

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

I silently close the door behind me and sink to the floor.

I feel sick.

* * *

><p><em>12 hours earlier<em>

I stare at myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth. I turn my head from side to side, assessing my appearance from all possible angles. Peeking out of the collar of my shirt is the beginnings of the hickey Randy gave me the other night. Hence the fact that I'm even wearing a shirt with a collar in the first place. That and the fact that my mom is still in her room and therefore I have no chance to go through my usual cover-up routine.

I lean forward and spit.

Glancing at my watch as I raise the toothbrush to my mouth, I increase my pace – I should have left five minutes ago. And knowing my luck, I'm going to hit every red light on the way and then have to watch my speed as patrol cars race past me to some unseen accident, culminating in having to slow right down behind some lost tourist who took the wrong exit for the airport. The odds will be against me – they always are.

Randy and I have taken to meeting at our old haunt once again. Bea's interruption was something that neither of us wanted to repeat. Although there was barely anything for her to interrupt. For days, we did nothing but sit in silence, contemplating life, the fucking universe and everything. It was like we'd rewound to two months earlier – the uneasiness, the curious glances in the other's direction, the tentative touches of fingers when ever we passed a cigarette between us.

_She_ was always there, in the back of my mind.

I wondered if she'd got into Randy's head too. He couldn't hold my gaze for longer than a second, his words to me few and far between. I knew how much she was torturing me behind the scenes. I could hear her voice over and over again in my head, telling me about our future, asking me to prove my love for her. I felt like she was looking over my shoulder. I could practically feel her eyes on me, full of mocking and distain.

I lean forward and spit for the final time.

So we got drunk. And fucked. Loudly. Against a tree. Splinters and all.

Randy's voice replaced hers, full of lust and hunger. And all I could feel from then on was his eyes on me. And his mouth. And his tongue.

Fuck...

I adjust my pants uncomfortably with one hand as I wipe my mouth with the other.

* * *

><p>I lean back, shielding my eyes from the sunlight as I cruise along the highway.<p>

No red lights.

Not a cop car in sight.

And no lost tourists.

For once, things are going my way.

I allow myself the satisfaction of a smug smile. A smile that soon breaks into a chuckle, as I tap the indicator and take the next exit. The road ahead is clear and even as it narrows and turns into a dirt-track, there is no-one about. No daytime hikers or families on a day-out to slow me down or sour my mood.

Just me.

And Randy.

As I take the final bend in the road, the sun bounces off the top of his car. I swing in alongside him and as I cut the engine, I watch, out of the corner of my eye, as he gets out and stretches, his t-shirt riding up ever so slightly.

The minute I get out of the car, he's pressing me up against it, his mouth as insatiable as always.

"Not here," I mumble against his lips.

"My mom keeps questioning the grass stains on my pants," he replies.

"And?"

He grabs my wrists and bends my arms backwards, holding me exactly where he wants me.

"And? Maybe it's time for your knees to get a little dirty."

"Not here," I say again.

"Fine." He tugs at my bottom lip as he pulls away and reluctantly releases me.

We cut through the grass, re-tracing our steps from the day before and the day before that, sharing a cigarette as usual. Just before we disappear into the shade of the trees, Randy catches my wrist again and turns me towards him. The cigarette hangs from his lips and I reach out and take it from him, a small moan escaping the back of my throat as he catches the tip of my finger between his lips and sucks gently.

We pick up the pace, hurrying through the trees to the small clearing near the edge of the valley. The place where we took this to the next level. We barely make it there before Randy grabs me and pulls me agains the nearest tree.

His mouth attacks me fiercely, his hands grabbing my shoulder, my neck, my face, my hair, my ass, my hips, my cock. I force his arms back, pinning him to the tree, as I slow his kisses, taking my time, to explore his mouth with my tongue, to nip at his lower lip, to draw rumbling groans from deep inside him, smirking as he desperately fights against my grip.

I adorn his neck with kisses and bites, watching the tanned skin turn dark as I leave him with my mark.

He calls me a fucking tease as I take a step back and ponder my next move.

"Well, well, well... What have we here?"

I almost piss myself.

All the colour drains from Randy's face.

Jay and Rich crunch towards us, cocky grins plastered across their faces. Their eyes are gleaming as they assess the scene. All my excuses, all my lies make a sharp exit, leaving me with nothing. I just stand there, rooted to the spot as they near.

"What's up, freak?" Jay sneers at Randy, casually leaning against the tree next to him.

Rich throws an arm around my shoulder and I do my best not to react.

"Hey dude, we've been looking for you."

"Yeah?" I manage to get out.

"We heard that there was a party going down, didn't we Jay?"

"Yup," Jay replies, still staring at Randy, his eyes slowly narrowing, the grin no longer present.

"So we thought, we should tell you about it. Because we all know you like a good party, right? You and Bea both, right? So we call round at your's and your mom tells us that you're out. With Bea. Sweet, right?" Rich's grip on my shoulders gets firmer, his fingers digging into my flesh.

"So we go round to Bea's," Jay picks up the tale. "And she say's that you're not there. Now, we were all a bit confused to tell the truth. Where on earth has our buddy got to? I mean, where else would he be? At The Cavern perhaps? Maybe he's lying to Bea to get some alone time, right?"

"We've all done it," comments Rich.

"Of course. So, we start to head over there. When, what do y'know? We see you driving towards the highway, like the fucking cops are after your ass."

I go cold. But there was no-one following me. No-one. I mean, I never... Fuck.

"So we decide to see where you're going." Jay's voice gets lower, more deadly.

"And we see the exit you take."

"But we think, we should give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you just wanted to go for a drive. So we pull over. We reckon you'll appear and drive back the other way in a while."

"But you never appear," Rich whispers. "So we're getting a bit worried ain't we, Jay?"

"Sure."

"Maybe you've had an accident."

"Or maybe you've been pulled over."

"So we decided to head up and find you. Because that's what friends do, right?"

"But what do we find? Your car at the end of some dirt-track."

"And not just your car. Someone else's car," Rich throws Randy a look of disgust.

"And y'see, I recognised that car. So I say to Rich, that car belongs to that fucking freak Orton," Jay takes a step closer to Randy.

"So I say, maybe we should go and check this shit out. Make sure our boy's okay."

"Thing is, you two looked pretty comfortable together."

"Yeah,' murmurs Jay, close to my ear. "What's up with that?"

"I..."

"Well?" Rich is now inches away from Randy's face.

Randy is staring at me, panic in his eyes.

I open my mouth, but words refuse to leave.

"See, one of three things is happening here," Jay begins. "Number one, you guys just happen to be here at the same time, in the same place. Pure fucking coincidence and all that shit."

Rich chuckles, as he places a hand just above Randy's head.

"Number two, and in my opinion, the least likely of the three, you two are actually friends," Jay scoffs and Rich laughs cruelly. "But like I say, unlikely."

"Or three," Rich says slowly, "you've had this planned all along."

"Planned?" I manage to squeak out.

"Sure. You supposedly befriend this giant, lure him here and then we arrive, beat the shit out of him and this time," he leans close to Randy's ear. "This time, we finish the fucking job."

"You got it."

Randy's eyes widen in horror.

"Yeah?" Jay steps in front of me, blocking Randy from view. "We got it huh? Funny how we didn't know about this genius plan."

"Well, I figured that you'd understand when you got here. I saw you tailing me."

"Really?"

I nod furiously.

"Well, don't let us spoil your fun." Jay smirks as he steps aside and grasping me by the arm, pulls me towards Randy.

"What do you mean?" I can hear the panic in my own voice.

"Start as you mean to go on and all that. Do what you came here to do."

I stare at him in bewilderment and watch as the smirk cracks his face in two.

"Go on. Do it," he growls.

There's something in his eyes...

Fuck.

I glance at Rich, who gives me the same stare.

"C'mon, I mean, I... I wouldn't be doing this if you guys weren't here. Look, this is all for you. You didn't do the job properly first time round. You let me down. This is your chance to earn back my respect. "

"Your respect?" scoffs Jay. "How about you earn ours?"

I look at Randy. His eyes are wide and glistening. I've always been able to see myself reflected in them – whenever I draw back from his kiss and gaze at him, or when he's sucking me off and we both chance a look at the other at the same time, or when he throws me a look over his shoulder as I ram into him. All those times, seeing myself in his eyes has made my heart fucking leap, increased the tension between us, spurred us both on to reach the ultimate pleasure.

Now all I can see is a coward.

His mouth forms unspoken words, as he silently begs me not to do it.

"Go on, do it," hisses Jay.

I can feel my hand closing into a fist.

Rich grins insanely, pulling Randy away from the tree, pinning his arms behind us back, shouting at me to hit him.

Jay is there, whispering in my ear. Whispering that soon turns to shouting as I continue to stand there, frantically searching for a way out.

But there is no way out.

"DO IT!"

"HIT HIM!"

"NOW!"

Jay grabs my hand and raises it, almost crushing my fingers as he closes his hand around mine and pulls me towards Randy.

Randy barely struggles. There's a look of resignation in his eyes. A look of disappointment as Jay lets go of my fist and it hovers mid-air, waiting to strike.

"DO IT NOW!"

I mouth one word at Randy.

Sorry.

The first punch glances off his right cheek.

The second hits home on the left and I watch in slow-motion as his head falls back.

The third is low, directo to his stomach. He doubles over, winded and collapses to the ground.

Jay and Rich charge. Pushing me out of the way, eager to dish out their own series of punches and kicks.

I stumble backwards, watching as Randy's face turns from pale white to blood red.

Through the trees, I watch as his limbs stop moving.

* * *

><p>I bang on the door for the third time.<p>

I know they're home. I saw the car pull up. I watched them carry him inside.

The door swings open.

"Look, now's not a good time."

"I need to see him."

Randy's mom places an arm across the doorway, blocking my entrance. "No."

"I need to explain."

"Explain? Why don't you explain it to me? How did my son end up beaten within an inch of his life?"

"I..."

"Well? Don't you know?"

"I need to see him."

"He doesn't want to see anyone."

"Please," I beg.

She gives me a hard stare.

"I'll give you one minute."

I bolt past her and up the stairs, pushing open the second door without knocking.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out. In the half-shadows I can make him out on the bed. I edge closer.

My voice is caught in the back of my throat.

Both eyes are swollen shut. His cheeks are purple, his nose heavily bandaged, his lips cut and bruised. His arms lay still by his sides, but I can still see the finger marks from where Rich was holding him. His torso is covered by the bedsheets, shielding me from where undoubtedly the most damage has been done.

"I'm sorry," I repeat.

He moans as he turns his head to one side, facing away from me.

"What could I do?"

He mumbles something I can't make out.

"What would you have done?"

"Told the truth," he murmurs through thick lips.

"What good what that have done? We'd both be in fucking hospital."

His shoulders move in a shrug.

"Go away," he mumbles.

"I'm sorry." Tears prick my eyes.

"Go away."

"I'm so sorry."

"Leave."

I reach out and touch his hand.

He flinches.

"Leave me alone," he hisses, his face scrunched up in pain as he pulls his hand away from mine.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice shaking.

There's a knock on the door. His mom tells me to go.

The front door closes behind me with a resounding thud. His mom told me to quit calling round.

_He doesn't want to see you again. We don't want you coming here ever again._

I kick my way down the steps, my head down as I blink back tears.

I only look up when a car door slams. Bea leans against her car.

Mascara trickles down her cheeks, but there's not even a hint of sadness in her eyes. Only a cold, hard, vindictive stare.

She doesn't even need to say anything.

The truth will out.

Game over.


	15. Epilogue

As promised - the epilogue. I hope it is everything you want it to be. I'm not one for clear cut endings, but if you reach the end and are unsure as to what the conclusion is, let me confirm now that it is exactly what you want it to be (I hope!)

Now I'm afraid that chapter 14 was the last time you will hear things from OC's point of view. **What you are about to read, is entirely from Randy's POV**. Again, I hope you like. And you can all thank LegacyChick for this as it was her idea way way way back in the early days of this fic.

I won't waste your time much longer, but I just want to say a thank you to EVERYONE who has stuck with this fic. This is the first multi-chapter fic that I've ever written that has been completely un-betaed. I just went with my gut instinct on everything and just prayed that it was the right decision. So thank you for bearing with my haphazard thought process. And thank you for taking the risk with me - there aren't many slash OC stories out there, so I've been completely overwhelmed with the response I've received. Thank you.

**WARNINGS: **Mentions of slash.

**DISCLAIMER:** For the final time, I do not own Randy Orton. Only... Ah what the hell, he will finally be named... But I'll keep you hanging till the end ;-)

And again, for the final time - I hope you likey x

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>

I breathe heavily on the window, watching the steamy patch expand and then slowly recede again. I reach out and lazily trail my finger through the dampness, before repeating the entire process all over again.

Anything to pass the boredom.

Anything to blot any thoughts of what lies only three hours away.

It's been four months, but fuck, every time I close my eyes everything, _everything_, replays itself in a matter of seconds. You'd have thought after this long, details would be blurry, my mind would have taken snapshots from one moment and mixed them with another. But no. I remember every detail, exactly how it happened.

My mom said time would be a healer. Bullshit. Time only healed my injuries – my broken ribs, my bloody nose, my bruised face. I don't think she accounted for how fucked up my mind was. Her endless questions didn't help. Asking me over and over again what happened, who did it, why they did it. I shrugged. I rolled over and faced the wall, my eyes squeezed shut and listened to my dad swear on all that's fucking holy that he'd beat the crap out of whoever was responsible for hurting his boy.

Only my sister knew the truth. Funny how all I wanted him to do was tell the truth and when it came down to it, I could barely bring myself to do the same. Not that I exactly spelt it out to her. She guessed. She sat on the edge of the bed, sighed and told me everything that I already knew.

Only she got the ending completely wrong. According to her, I got jumped by some kids from school. Half true. She just didn't figure that he was there. Or that he was the first to dish out the punches. But I stuck to that ending. For everyone's benefit.

Like I said, when it came down to it, I couldn't follow my own advice.

After everything, it turns out I'm as much of a coward as he was.

So much of a coward, the best thing I could think to do was leave. I hadn't got a college place, but I couldn't stay around there and figure out how to pick up my life again when the chances of bumping into him or his so-called-friends were so high. I decided the best thing for everyone was to travel to the other side of the country and try and work out something there.

Not that it worked. I've spent the last four months on fucking auto-pilot, getting yelled at for not following orders, getting my ass beat down by anyone and everyone. Nothing new. Nothing different. So here I am, making the journey home for Christmas, completely lost as to what to do next.

The day before I was due to leave, I wondered if I should go and see him. I hadn't spoken to him since that god-awful day. And even then, he did most of the talking – although does saying sorry over and over again actually count as talking? I was so angry, hurt and ultimately destroyed that I didn't give him a chance. I mean, after what he did, many would say that he didn't deserve to have a chance to explain. He explained enough with his fists.

I mean, I've heard of mixed signals – our entire fucking relationship, or whatever it was, was full of them – but never did I expect to be making out with him one minute and then be punched in the fucking stomach the next.

Maybe I was just plain stupid – I knew that there was no way he was ever going to tell Bea, but I hoped, I fucking prayed, that during college, something would happen and things between them would fizzle out and we'd be able to carry on as normal. Yeah, stupid. Like that was _ever_ going to happen. Bea would be on his fucking tail every second of every hour of every day. I didn't stick around long enough to find out if they were still together, but I know, I just _know_ that they are. She's there, orchestrating his entire life and he just nods and smiles and follows her lead like a fucking puppy dog.

I bite my lip. No, I'm being too harsh on him. I can't even begin to imagine being in his shoes, having his life. Sure, I would have killed to swap my life with anyone else, but there is no way I would want his. To be trapped with that girl, to have friends like his? Fuck that. I would rather stay a loner, to continue un-noticed.

Not that I was never un-noticed. Fuck, from the first day I walked into that schoolyard, I was on everyone's radar. Like I could help being too tall for my age. I did everything I could to be ignored. I kept my mouth shut, I kept my head down in class, I stayed out of everyone's way as much as possible. But somehow that made everything worse. I refused the offer to join the football team – what a big mistake that was. That just gave them a reason to hate me. Hell, I didn't refuse out of spite, I didn't do it because I thought I was above all that. Truth was, I thought they asked me for a bet. That if I had said yes, they would have laughed in my face, asked me why they would want a fucking giant who can't control his limbs, who has a face butchered with acne, on their average sized, perfect-faced team. I thought if I said no, I would spare myself the humiliation. Turns out, they did want me on the team and my refusal was considered treachery.

What would have happened if I had joined the team? Would things have still been the same? Would we still have spent all those years, chancing glances in the other's direction, hoping that our eyes don't meet, but praying that one day they will? I guess we'll never know. But I think the answer would have been no. No way in hell.

God, I can't even begin to explain how, what or why. I just started to catch myself looking in his direction. I used to know he was in the room without even looking. I could just sense his presence. My hands would start to sweat and I swear I would start shaking with fucking nerves. I used to love it when Bea sat next to him – she was always so desperate to look clever, her hand was always waving in the air, urgently trying to get noticed so she could inform the entire class of her views. It was the perfect excuse to turn around with everyone else and look, not at her, but at him. He'd always have his eyes down, staring at his notebook, a slight pink tinge on his neck. I always thought it was because he was embarrassed for her – I mean, Christ, she'd rattle off absolute shit sometimes.

He was all-consuming. Despite the fact he had Bea or that he was part of the gang who's number one past-time was taking cheap shots at my expense, despite the fact that there was no way in hell that he would take one look at me and think anything other than freak, no matter how much I tried to talk myself out of thinking about him, he refused to leave my mind.

Then the shivers on the back of my neck began. And I would look around only to see him quickly look away. I thought I was imagining it. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. I thought that I had subconsciously taken my entire fantasy to the next level.

And then I caught him looking at me. I remember my mouth going dry, my brain willing me to look away or at least, turn my gaze on her instead, but my eyes refused to budge. We must have stared at each other for at least 10 seconds. And then he scowled and I thought all was lost.

My thoughts were re-confirmed when I caught him with Bea on her knees in front of him. I was about to turn away, incredibly uncomfortable having seen them and then that fucking car drove past and he looked straight at me. I watched as he fucking came in her mouth. That image haunted me for weeks. But hell, I was still thinking about him. In fact, I started to think about what it would be like to do that to him. I used to fucking _dream_ about it. I would wake up, hard and horny and jerk off to that one thought. Only afterwards, would I panic and freak out. Suddenly, I would be struggling to breathe, my own thoughts making my skin crawl and I would find myself trying to keep down the contents of my stomach.

And then we started to bump into each other. Man, that was awkward. All I could think of was how those moments would soon translate into wanking material. Few words left his lips. I would desperately try to make small talk, to act normal, yet he preferred to sit in silence and share cigarettes.

But I remember so clearly the moment where I realised that maybe I wasn't alone in my fantasy. The moment where everything started to spiral out of control. I remember walking into that bathroom completely unaware. I remember looking at the cubicles and seeing the feet. And then I watched myself redden in the mirror as I realised in morbid fascination what was going on in that particular cubicle. And I remember thinking, I should really leave.

And then he said my fucking name.

I was rooted to the spot. I couldn't walk away. I stood and listened to him come. I heard the toilet paper being unravelled and torn, the zipper being tugged up, the flush of the toilet. And then he came out. And stared straight at me. Only then did I realise that I should have left two minutes earlier. I bolted.

I spent the rest of the day avoiding him. I skipped class, I headed straight home, but I could just hear his voice, over and over again, gasping my name. And I kept remembering the look in his eye that told me everything I needed to know. But shit, I was scared. I was scared that I had mis-heard him, that yet again, this was all a figment of my over-active imagination.

Somehow, I needed reassurance. So I snuck out and headed to The Cavern. I hung outside, unable to bring myself to go in. But just as I was thinking it was a complete waste of time, he appeared at my side. That was the first time we almost got caught. The first of many as it turned out. Rich bounded out of the bar with a girl in tow and all I could think to do, for my sake and his, was to hide. I never counted on him actually following me. We never said a word. We stuck to the usual routine. But I remember that being the first time, I felt truly comfortable around him. The first time I realised that maybe we were both in the same boat.

A sign flashes past and I realise with a jolt that I'm closer to home than I originally thought. In less than an hour I'm going to be standing in that bus depot, waiting for my dad to pick me up and drive me back to the house. I dread to think what's been going on since I've been gone. I've barely spoken to my parents or my sister. I rang my mom to tell her I would be coming home and although she sounded happy, there was something in her voice that told me that not all was as it seemed. I wonder if he's been calling round, despite being told not to. I wonder if he knows where I've been. Or if he cares.

I let my mind float back to the times we spent in the woods at the back of school. I can't quite believe that I suggested it. I was bold and brave for a split second and to my surprise, he agreed. Although nothing changed apart from the location. Until I asked about him and Bea.

What did he expect? It was always playing on my mind. I couldn't figure out what was going on – was he bi? Was he gay? Was he straight and just didn't want to be in her company 24/7? The moment I asked, I wanted to stuff the words back into my mouth and forget all about them. He was so defensive. I realised I had made a mistake.

But then again... Why hang out with me? Was it out of a pity? I mean, why would he risk everything he had to hang out with the school freak? Why would he put his friendship with Jay and Rich on the line just to hang out with me? And why would he rather be with me than with his girlfriend? I knew something wasn't right. But he never gave me a chance to explain. So I went to find him. He wasn't in The Cavern parking lot and a quick look inside told me he wasn't there at all. But I thought what the hell, Jay and Rich were in there, so he was bound to show up at some point.

So I waited. And waited.

And then he showed. I just remember his mouth moving and my brain slowly realising what he was saying. I couldn't help myself.

I kissed him.

Looking back now, that was a big mistake. None of this would have happened if I hadn't done what I did. Those brief seconds before he pulled away were the downfall for both of us.

But fuck, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Even now, I can still remember what it felt like to have his lips on mine. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and decide not to torture myself anymore.

* * *

><p>My mom eyes me suspiciously as I lace up my sneakers.<p>

"You're going out? Where?"

"I dunno. I just don't really want to sit here all evening."

What I really don't want is to sit here and be questioned by you and dad on my next move.

"Right. So where are you going?"

I shrug. It's easier than answering.

"I'll be back in a few hours."

I kiss her on the cheek and quickly make my escape.

I drive on auto-pilot. My mind is slowly working through everything once again. The kiss. The time Jay and Rich jumped me after school. That was one fucking warning I should have taken seriously. I should have told him to leave the second he walked into my room. And we definitely shouldn't have kissed again.

Hindsight is a fucking godsend huh?

At the time though, it just felt... It felt fucking amazing. I remember lying in the grass and looking over at him. Watching him gaze up at the sky, cigarette smoke escaping from his lips, biting my own lip as he reached up and brushed the hair out of his eyes. That thick, black hair that practically begged to be touched. I used to reach over and ghost my fingers over the curls, before pushing them behind his ear, wrapping my hand around the back of his head and pulling him towards me. We'd clamber over each other, kissing, biting, groping...

I blink. Where the fuck am I driving to? I indicate right and pull off the highway, my hands gripping the wheel so tight, my knuckles are white. I pause and debate turning back round and heading home. But I can't face it. I plan on staying out late enough that I can sneak back in un-noticed. So I carry on down the familiar road. That familiar dirt-track...

Lord knows why I've come here. Maybe in the back of my mind, I realised that I had nowhere else to go. Or maybe I was just hoping...

I'm bitterly disappointed when I pull up in the open space and my headlights fail to notice any other cars. Perhaps nothing changed for him. He did what they wanted. He hammered home a few punches, gained back their respect and left them to do the rest. He walked away, walked straight back into Bea's arms and will spend the rest of his miserable life in her clutches.

Good.

It's the least he fucking deserves.

But I don't quite believe that is what happened. At first, I hoped it did. It made me feel better. I came out the bigger man out of it all, I could walk around with my head held high. I was right – admitting the truth would have avoided all of this. But then again... Wasn't I hiding from the truth the whole time too? I mean, am I not telling my parents out of respect? Or to protect myself? Aren't I just the same as him? Sure, I wanted him to come clean, but wasn't I just a little bit relieved when he didn't? Wouldn't it have made my life even more hell than it already was?

I get out of the car and stare up at the dark sky. After the initial after-shock, I realised that I wasn't angry with him. I just felt numb. I couldn't decide if I was upset or disappointed. He had drained me of all emotion and feeling. I gave him everything I had and he took it. He left me with nothing. He let me fuck him the first time. And then every time after that, it was always him inside me. He was always toying with me – reducing to me to a fucking wreck with a look, a kiss, a touch. I was at his beck and call. I was who he snuck off to see – a sneaky fuck before he went back to her.

I used to lie in my stained bedsheets, listening to him walk down the stairs, slam the front door and his car start up. I would roll over and bury my head between the pillows, breathing in his scent. He was so fucking intoxicating. I was addicted.

Never once did he apologise for anything he did. And when he did, it was too fucking late.

My feet start to move and before I know it, I'm practically running through the grass towards the dense trees. I lean against one and breathe heavily.

My breathe catches in my throat as I hear a car engine. Headlights sweep over the woods and then darkness.

_Fuck._

I stumble backwards in a panic. I should have turned around and headed back home when I had the chance.

A car door slams. The rustle of grass as whoever it is makes their way towards me. I cower behind a tree. A shadowy figure passes me silently. I clamp my own hand over my mouth to stop myself from uttering a sound.

I watch as he walks through the trees. I follow him instinctively. He's heading down to the meadow before the valley dips down. The place where we spent the best part of the summer before we moved into cars and beds.

I watch as he slumps to the ground and lies back staring up at the sky. He lights up a cigarette and I catch a glimpse of his features in the brief flicker of orange light.

I really should go. I should turn around and get the fuck out of there. I really shouldn't be walking towards him, lying down next to him and reaching over to take the cigarette from his lips.

He jumps and scrambles away from me.

"Randy, what the fuck are you doing here?"

I shrug and take a long drag.

"Where have you been?"

"Why do you care?" I counter.

"I... I didn't know what happened to you."

I hold the cigarette out to him. He takes it. The familiar electric shock leaves my skin tingling.

"You were there. You saw what happened to me. In fact, you did it to me," I say slowly. I can almost see his face pale.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out.

"I know."

"I'm really sorry."

"Me too."

"Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything."

"I didn't give you a chance to explain."

"Why would you?" he murmurs. "I fucked up. I was scared, Randy."

"I know."

"It doesn't excuse what I did."

"I dunno." I stare at him, watching as he worries his bottom lip. "I would have done the same."

"Bullshit," he scoffs. "You would have told the truth."

I shake my head. "I'm as much as a coward as you. You think my parents know? No chance. My sister? She guessed and got half of it wrong, but I never bothered to correct her. And anyway, think about it, if they had known the truth, do you think anything would have been different? It would have just given them a better excuse to beat the crap out of me and you."

"But..."

"But what? Nothing either of us can do now can ever change what happened."

Silence falls between us. He lies back on the grass next to me. Inches away. Seeing him, being next to him... I want everything we had again. And more.

"Me and Bea broke up," he whispers. "She was waiting outside your house. Jay told her that they'd found us together. They saw us kissing before they, y'know..." he trails off.

"Did you go to college?"

"No. I gave up my place."

"Why?"

"We were supposed to go to the same college. And I knew that if I still went, all I would get was shit from her."

"So what are you doing?"

"Nothing much."

It's amazing how much you can talk about when you're trying to avoid the obvious. The obvious being that I really, really want to reach out and touch him. Like I did all those months ago.

"What about you? You going to tell me where you've been?"

"Out west."

"What you doing there?"

"Nothing much."

Silence takes hold once again. And I practically choke on my own breath when his hand reaches out and touches mine.

"I'm sorry," he says for the third time. "I just didn't know what to do. I never wanted to..."

"I was never angry at you," I say, trying to concentrate on anything other than the way his thumb is rubbing the back of my hand.

He doesn't say anything. He just inches closer to me. Our shoulders press together. Even through two layers of jackets, I can practically feel his warm skin against mine.

"I think about you all the time," I murmur. "Like, all the fucking time."

He still doesn't say anything. He just reaches out and turns my face towards his. I close my eyes, feeling his breath on my face, as he leans in and his lips touch mine.

Actions speak louder than words.

Although there is one word, one name, that's been on the tip of my tongue every time I've tugged desperately at my cock in the middle of the night. One name that hasn't left my lips since I begged him not to hit me.

As he pulls away and searches my face, it finally slips from my mouth.

"Ollie..."

**Fin x**

* * *

><p><em>A few little extra thank you's...<em>

The Doorist - You are the true force behind this fic. I had the idea for a while and then you showed me that pic of Randy as a teenager and that was all the inspiration I ever needed. Thank you so much for your lovely reviews and for always being there whenever I needed someone to bounce ideas off - these last few chapters have been down to your never-ending help, for which I am truly grateful for. Thank you.

LegacyChick - You are quite literally the first person to review every single chapter and therefore the first person to stop me panicking that I have fucked something up lol. And I'm very grateful that you suggested telling part of the story from Randy's POV - this chapter could have been so much harder to write if it was still from OC/Ollie's POV and you suggested early on a way to make it less so. Thank you.

QueenOfCombat - I know slash is not your thing, but I hope that I'm slowly winning you over to the darkside ;-) Thank you not only for your reviews on here, but also all our exchanges by email. Your enthusiasm kept me going when I was having real difficulty with this story. Thank you. (And I promise that I will be a better beta now this is all over!)

ARyDiBiasePosse - Thank you so much for your reviews on every chapter - like LegacyChick, you were always among the first to make me grin like a lunatic. I tend to post late at night and normally your reviews would be the first thing I would see when I check my email in the morning, therefore providing me the perfect start to the day. Thank you.

And to everyone else who read, reviewed, favourited, took a chance on this pretty fucked up story - a massive thank you. I appreciate it :-)

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a ton of stories to catch up on and a hell of a lot of reviewing of my own to do lol.

xx rkolove xx


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